


A Healer's Hands

by CelestiaTrollworth



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BAMF!Sarek, Bamf!Spock, Chapter 18 "Losses" is seriously violent, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, New Vulcan, Original Vulcan Characters - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 70,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestiaTrollworth/pseuds/CelestiaTrollworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of Vulcan and the Vengeance Incident, Sarek is left widowed, trying to bury his own grief, forget the many sorrows of his old life and help his son and Kirk through what can't be helped or forgotten, only endured. At the same time, the Romulan "Madmiral" T'Areinnye is tearing through the Empire disposing of every Vulcan POW she can find, on her way toward the shaky and damaged Federation and New Vulcan. </p><p>What do you do after the end of the world, and what do you do when even the world you have left is broken?</p><p>The time between va'Pak and the Vengeance Incident has been compacted for plot reasons. Later chapters will have fairly explicit violence and will be trigger-warned.<br/>There are occasional references to the "Carbon Creek" episode of Enterprise. Mestral was just too much fun not to use. As for Solkar, I've done considerable damage to his canon character, but consider it an effect of the broken timeline :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Madness, and there's S'chnT'gai Madness

There's madness, and there's S'chnT'gai madness.

\--General T'Sharra, Founder of the House

 

_“...and in further news, Romulan Admiral Areinnye has reportedly taken four hundred and fifty prisoners from a Romulan prison, loaded them onto an old transport and blown the transport up in the Neutral Zone, apparently to flaunt the power of the Romulan Fleet against a depleted Federation. This is the fourth such atrocity since the Battle and the Madmiral has issued a position statement that she will not stop until she has cleansed Romulan space of every last Vulcan...”_

 

He turned off the news feed. There was a limit to how long they could sit in one room even if it did have a magnificent view of what was left of downtown San Francisco. Granted, only two were sitting on the sofa, leaning against the ends. Kirk had been all but immobile in the recliner from the beginning, still sleeping off the aftereffects of getting blown up and irradiated. Spock would have been pacing as usual when anything went that far wrong, except he looked as if a careless painter had dropped a landscape palette on him. The fading bruises from his fight with Khan were in every stage from deep green to a sickly copper with verdigris. The bruises on his soul were no less ugly.

As for Sarek, the gaping wound of his grief took the edge off what he recognized as regret for having missed the opportunity to help with the fight. He was properly calm, as far as that went; when his aides came upstairs, staggering in their own renewed shock, he did not burden them with his emotions or pay unwanted attention to theirs. His brother Silek was worse off, coughing constantly from the dust, wandering the rooms wraithlike, barely speaking to him and seldom thinking in his direction. The _Vengeance_ crash and all its mayhem had ripped the barely held scab off the wound of va'Pak, the Immeasurable Loss, and Silek's was profound; he had lost his wife's family as well as the Terran sister-in-law who was his second mother.

Most of the time, Silek found excuses to fuss over the pregnant sehlat or the bewildered little fvav mare who had suddenly become the most popular creatures at the embassy. Sugar, the sehlat, and Zihn, the fvav, had to have their food doled out from the stocks that fortunately had been replenished just before the wreck. They needed grooming, and there was a lot of a pregnant sehlat to brush every day, so it took several aides to do the job—that was their story and they were sticking to it. As for little Zihn, her small size and short coat meant she got petted more than brushed. Fvav were famous for finding the most distressed person in a room and insisting on attention. The embassy's stock of former stray cats had taken to hiding in unused rooms to avoid having fifty people pick them up for inspection in case a claw might be broken or a tuft of hair might think of matting.

Not even the cats truly begrudged the Vulcans who could never admit to thinking anything was wrong. Many of the staff were more or less injured, most were sick from the cold and the dust, and still they opened offices every morning when there was no conceivable reason because they could not break from their routine without losing what was left of their minds. The tourist bureau had no present or future work. It was hard to imagine the office of entertainment production having anything to offer. Every day Sarek had to make his way through the building telling those in obvious physical pain to rest, telling those fussing over useless documents not to worry about anything but the list of missing, telling all of them not to think about how they would handle the future when the present was enough.

The present was more than he wanted. His own damage from the _Vengeance_ slicing through town left him with bad ribs, a sore back, a tiring cough and a limp that wouldn't let him walk the halls as much as he wished. For the fiftieth time that morning he got up, planted his hands on the windowsill to hold himself up and tried to make himself understand that Amanda would never again yell at him to sit down, nor would he stamp out into the edge of the Forge and sit there in the dark with his back turned to the house to let her know he was unhappy with her.

The whole planet, there, and then not. Thirty-seven nations that had drawn such desperately hard lines to keep from fighting, the monuments to half-forgotten battles, the ancient graffiti in some of the caves about the sexual habits of people from the plateau, the endless razor-edged politeness during negotiations, gone. All of the people who had tried to sabotage the Federation, gone. The vast majority of those who had enforced the rules, gone. All of the people who had been incensed at his marriage...

...and his wife...

She had left that hole, that empty spot, bigger than the one where Vulcan should be. There was a dust cloud. She was part of it now, but he couldn't find her there. At times, she felt as if she still lived in his chest, as if all they had lost did, as if tomorrow he would fly to Vulcan and walk into the Science Academy again.

His other city now lay broken five stories below the embassy's soaring cathedral windows. San Francisco was home away from home, where he had met her, where when he needed her she had said yes to everything. It was not reasonable to think it, too, had been broken out of cosmic spite to wipe away every trace of her. City power had been out since the crash, leaving the solar panels to power essentials only, meaning no merciful masking of the scene with some attractive chamber of commerce picture or helpful map of attractions. No, the live view was a panorama of heavy equipment clearing the streets. Tugs hauled tows of rubble out into the bay. In the midst of the crumple zone, small fires popped out day and night, sending fire ships past them to drop water before any of the sparks could catch the surrounding woods.

His grandfathers Mestral, who had acquired the Terran name Nick, and Solkar, the retired ambassador, had come from the consulate in Pittsburgh to go out with the search parties ever since the _Vengeance_ knifed through. They were too busy to do more than stop by and check in; he wished he had work as useful, but his days were batch-signing death certificates and changing passports from family to individual for the few who had survived by being off-world. There were also the inevitable meetings with dignitaries who wished to be seen expressing their condolences, and only the destruction of half of Embassy Row had saved him from the rounds of official functions he had avoided as much as possible.

Last night he had been moving through the halls in the dark again—who could sleep in those hours?--and passed a meditation room where someone was trying to sob quietly. It was not permitted to intrude, or to chide anyone in that state for loss of control, and still he looked because he thought he knew the voice that begged for all of it to make any kind of sense. His brother had thrown himself face down on the meditation stone, so far beyond broken that he barely noticed when Sarek knelt beside him. Amanda should have been able to tell him how to offer comfort, whether to stay at all. There was no word, and there were no words, so he stayed beside Silek until he either stopped sobbing or ran out of tears. He couldn't get up, so Sarek lifted his thin body shivering with fever and carried him to his bed away from prying eyes and ears.

Solkar had come up the steps a little later, catlike in his dark uniform, and Sarek had sent him to see what could be done. He emerged from Silek's monastic little room in a half-hour, caught up with Sarek in the hall and said “My office. Now.” One did not argue with _sa'mekh'li_. Solkar was technically younger than Sarek himself after two long stints in preservation after dire wounds. Hard physical work left him wiry and strong as well as regal. Sarek followed Solkar to the shoebox of an office set aside for him. “Sit.” The only place not covered with supply boxes was the edge of the desk, so he put himself there obediently.

What happened next was as unexpected as the crash. Solkar wrapped both arms around him, pressing Sarek's head to his chest. He would have moved away in shock, but his grandfather's stern “No” kept him there. The rapid tick of his grandfather's heart, the strength in his healer's hands, took him back almost a century. Did he remember, or had he been told that he had once rested so for hours every day shortly after he was born? It couldn't have been for too many months; Solkar had been in stasis for most of his childhood after the next assassination attempt very nearly succeeded.

The story had come down in any case: he was important enough for _sa'mekh'li_ to come back from Earth and take charge of the fragile premature baby during his mother's long illness and his gentle father's well-hidden but abject terror. The protests that should have been could not escape his lips and barely graced his thoughts; Solkar's chest was all that he had left of home. The big hand that held his head searched his mind gently. _Breathe. You have no idea how shallow your breathing is. This cold, damp, heavy air, the dust, the toxins, are doing you no favor and the filters are overcome._ The other hand splayed across the aching lower ribs. _Breathe even where it aches. In all else, be still_.

He gave up and leaned into the warmth and the peace for long minutes. _Is Silek all right?_

“He's dehydrated, hallucinating from lack of sleep and fever and on the edge of inhalation pneumonia, not unlike you, but it's nothing that will kill him since we caught it. Breathe.”

Breathing. A simple act, long neglected. “I should go to him.”

“No.” The smile was inward, but present. “You go all Sarek of Vulcan on me and I'll go all Solkar of Vulcan on you, and we'll see which of us is more stubborn. Breathe.” He hadn't meant to stir up that bitter thought: _More like 'of where Vulcan was.'_ “S'chnT'gai Sarek and S'chn T'gai Solkar, then.” _Someone should be with Silek_. “Nick is. He'll sleep and Nick won't let him dream. Settle.” One of Solkar's hands pressed into his back, making his spine crackle and releasing a spasm he hadn't known was there. “You need to stop running this entire place as if there were still a full workload and a functional city. Let the aides go to Vegas to be warm and taken care of and get out of here.”

“Spock is here.” He didn't have to say _and needs me even if that good woman of his is doing her level best to take care of him_. “Kirk is not well.”

“That poor kid shouldn't even be out of the hospital, but they don't have room. I checked on him, before you ask. He's doing as well as can be. You should get him to New Vulcan where the press won't be on him. Silek should go to the desert with the other staff. It would do him more good than anything I can do for him once he gets some rest. Speaking of which.” Solkar stood him up. “You're going to bed, I'll sit with you, you'll sleep, and I won't let you dream.”

 


	2. Dog Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kirk finds a Vulcan who is more kind than logical

Dog Watch

 

End of dog watch. Someone must be coming to relieve him, only it was death. No, not ready, too bad, you're coming with me, right here, on your knees, crawling, reaching, burned, can't breathe, the ship alive, him not, the burns oh God the burns please no please yes fight for every second but you lose it's the _Kobayashi Maru_ and you can't fix this Spock would hack it himself if he could cannot hold on cannot touch through the glass alone alone always knew it would be alone

“You're not alone,” the voice said. Sarek? No, an even softer and deeper voice. “Lights twenty.--Nightmares must be the deal tonight,and it's almost morning. I can help with that if you like.”

“Please.” He didn't open his eyes. Whatever the stranger planned to do had to be an improvement, but that didn't mean he wanted to see another piece of medical equipment coming at him. It wasn't equipment; it was a big, bony hand that rested lightly on his forehead.

“You were dreaming about dying. Yes, I do understand that.” The voice did; he'd been there, hadn't he, several times. “It's over. You aren't dead any more. It doesn't hurt much now, does it? I didn't think so.” Peace, just like that? He had to be hallucinating. He looked up. The hallucination was tall even for a Vulcan and regal in spite of his Miskatonic University sweatshirt. There wasn't a soft edge or a rounded corner on him from his hawk nose to his rawboned hands; his black and gray hair was rough. His eyes were black beneath their spiked brows and he traveled in a cloud of kindness. “My name is John, and you must be Jim Kirk.”

“Yes...John?” He blinked. “Aren't you a Vulcan?”

“Yes, but I've spent most of my time around Earth, sometimes even when I meant to and not just when I was crashing ships into it. The first thing you learn when you're a medic is that people need your name, and Solkar sounds too imposing when you're crawling into an overturned flitter with a stranger who needs help. Besides, my _t'hy'la_ lives in a little Pennsylvania town that's almost all Serbian humans, and when he leans out his door he can yell 'John! Mike! George! Nick!' and most of the men in town will come over. That worked for me.” He ran his fingers over Kirk's forehead again. “See what I mean? That was bad, but it's past, and you don't have to keep living it.”

He was right. Whatever Vulcan mind trick had happened, he was right. “You _know_ , don't you?”

“Yes. Quite a few times, I've had replays in my head that had no right to be there. It's always good to be reminded of that.” He hadn't asked the question, but the dark eyes flickered. “Yes, I'm Sarek's grandfather. I just spent a lot of time in the freezer over the years. My outlook on a lot of things moderated from all of that. You know, the whole being dead and back thing. It's a small club, but I think you'll find it friendly.”

“Spock Prime,” he said, and didn't mean to.

“Yes, and you listen to him. After all, your version is catching up on a lot of things that one should have done at a much earlier age. Marooning you, maybe that was a little excessive--”

“Not necessarily. I was being a real...” Could he say that in front of him?

“Don't worry about the words, either. I've heard a good many of them in a lot of languages.” Those eyes wouldn't let him get away with anything. “You feel bad for us, and that's kind of you, but you're not one of those pampered little princes yourself. Don't let anybody act like you are. And if anybody calls you a wimp, sic my great-grandson on them.”

“That would be effective, if I'm any judge.”

“See, there's the thing about Vulcans who insist on being all logic. We know all kinds of very logical ways to throw a punch and get the best effect. Back in Carbon Creek...” He told stories while the night gave way to the first pale hints of dawn. If half of them were true, Kirk decided, he had to go there someday. John patted his shoulder. “I should quit telling stories and let you get back to sleep. Next time that tries to happen, tell it to stop and settle yourself. I like to think 'Peace, be still', but if that doesn't do you find your own words, and if it bothers you too much, I'm a healer and that's what I'm here for.”


	3. Mail Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes just getting up and getting dressed is an accomplishment.

Mail Call

 

“Ambassador, that needs your signature,” one of them prompted. Contrary to popular opinion, a good night's sleep hadn't improved much besides his physical ability to stay upright. How long had the file been sitting there? The aide's expression never changed, but he sensed her annoyance. She could be as annoyed as she wished, but he didn't intend to sign anything without looking at it. Thank you, Mr. Sheikh in Dubai, the elders would be most appreciative of their new hot desert accommodations provided they were suitably barren and cheerless. Actually, they wouldn't be appreciative of anything, least of all one another. For a lot of Kohlinahri, they had decided and illogical opinions on nearly everything they'd been offered. So did the vast majority of the Remnant.

Gratitude wasn't necessary, but did they all have to be angry-when-they-weren't at him? He had lost count of the number who had muttered that the affair would have been infinitely better handled if his dead ex-wife had been in charge, or his mother. “Having a man in that job is an error we cannot repeat,” one of the old priestesses had sniffed. The same one, in fact, who had opposed having an emergency planetary evacuation plan in the first place and threw it to him as a punishment for having suggested such an alarmist thing. “It's all right for them to be ambassadors on Earth where their raging emotional imbalances will be expected and won't affect their performance.” Of course Jurek had found it necessary to point out that _he'd_ been the head of the Science Academy for years and hadn't been guilty of a single emotion since he was a child, so there, and on and on until Sarek's mother barked “ _Kroykah_!” at the lot of them and stormed out of the room. The meeting was terminated with extreme prejudice and she had last been seen on her way to the Sahara, without even her usual lecture to the rest of the Council on how illogical they all were.

The only gratitude he had seen from a Vulcan was so unexpected that it stunned him in public. T'Sorec, a farmer from Kir, had come to the Embassy to tell him his aired speculations on the nature of the drill attack had caused her to save her family. She had put them all in a very old shuttlebus, packing enough for a few weeks away, and when she saw there was no going home managed to get all the way to Earth with everyone and her next season's seed stock, which was now invaluable. “I'd like your staff to decide where to use it since I don't have a farm these days.” She wasn't sorry for herself, angry at him for not having a proper backup planet already set up in case Vulcan imploded, upset because a man was doing a woman's job or displeased with the climate control in the cheap hotel in Oakland where she, her husband, children, two elderly neighbors and the childrens' pets had holed up. As she took her leave, she put up the ta'al: “Live long and prosper, and _thank you,”_ causing the elders lurking in the background to mutter. He looked up her case; someone in North Dakota had offered her the use of a tract of land,and the locals had offered to take the family in for the winter. Hm. Not that Davy Wanders would have had a hand in that.

He watched the transport loading the aides for their trip and turned back to his desk.  Personal mail, then. From Davy: _I'm here_. _New Vulcan next week, staying a while as needed_. _Music therapy might be the best thing right now. Come and bring your axe. You need it as much as they do_. He hadn't touched an instrument since the night before it happened. He had a harp, a couple of guitars and who knew what else in the closet, but the idea of music had gone. It had been the soundtrack of his life, and now he couldn't bear walking by when someone else was playing because his chest would hurt.

Mother? Mother, stern as ever but somewhat less infuriated. _Caution is warranted, my son. The Romulans are moving toward the Neutral Zone with a_ _ **very**_ _large task force under the command of Daise'Khre'Riov' T'Arenniye and several destroyers that can only be Tal Shiar escorts. Oddly, many of the task force's ships seem to be cargo vessels. Make of that what you will. If you believe it possible to get away from the embassy and New Vulcan does not suit, you and your brother should join me here. The heat and dry air are most refreshing_. _As for the Council of Elders, I may resign if their behavior does not change. I left one pseudo-governing body a hundred and fifty years ago and I will not hesitate to do it again._ He pitied the Council. By this time next year, Mother might well have her own entire government set up whether they noticed it or not.

A quick one from Lia, newly in range: _I'm on my way faster than you'd believe. Now is the time. I am miserable on your behalf. You did not need this too. Talk to me, sa'kai'kam_. Had she even heard about Kirk being alive? He meant to put it aside to answer, fumbled and hit the wrong control to play back Amanda's last voicemail.

“Hey, _adun_. Are we going out tonight or have things progressed to where I need to order in? I didn't want to get dressed for nothing. I'm sitting here in my bathrobe waiting for word if you know what I mean and I think you do.” The curse, a gift. He had booked the next week off and gone home early because the thought of her in a bathrobe when the fever was rising guaranteed he was done working. Getting rid of that afternoon's schedule had been fiendishly pleasant. Reception for the Surak Prize winners? No, can't, indisposed. Pre-planning meeting for the already overplanned and overanalyzed transit authority planning meeting? My regrets, but a medical condition has made that impossible. Council of Elders request for an explanation of his overheard public use of the phrase “I cherish thee” toward his wife? The cause was sufficient if the cause was understood. “Listen, old dry bones, old dry hearts, it's always, not only every seven years” might have had him tossed off the planet for good, and now he wished he'd said it right to their disapproving faces. Yes, the week was a gift. The day the fever broke, the world ended.

The elders had occupied a conference room on the _Enterprise_ coming to Earth, and the whole trip had been taken up with squabbles over who was responsible for what part of the Gathering of the Remnant. No one thought to tell the Remnant that, so when he got to San Francisco, the elders were taken aback by the number of people who had reported in and gone about trying to salvage something of their lives without waiting for instructions. Why would they? They hadn't been sure how many elders were alive. In the face of that, the elders took to complaints about the weather (city government was not required to warm up the entirety of Embassy Row on their behalf) the neighborhood (all those military types at the Academy! Disgraceful!) and the food (the spices, these people, how can they use so many spices?) The crash had given them a whole new set of objections. The gratitude he felt toward the sheikh of hot dry Dubai for getting them out of his way after the _Vengeance_ Incident was profound, and he found himself hoping the sheikh would eat shashlik in front of them all.

Food, he thought. Breakfast had been tea and toast, presented to him by _sa'mekh'li_ Nick in no uncertain terms with the clear indication that he was going to eat voluntarily or Nick would cram it down his throat. Neither he nor Spock needed to eat as often as a human might, but there were humans to think of. Nyota was uninjured and found her own way because she was working so very much, but Kirk was not able to do much more than stare at the walls and get up to relieve himself. He did that and stopped in the kitchen on his way back, sighing “I hope Uhura brings something home.”

Spock barely lifted his head from the back of the couch. “If she can. She's on duty until late.” Sarek was acutely aware of the thought he let slip: the loneliness, the love, the unspoken _were she not here, I wouldn't be_.

He let go of the windowsill and limped back to the synthesizer to help Kirk stare at the display. Nothing left that it could make was in the least interesting to either Vulcan or human, nor was there likely to be any resupply drone soon with the airspace locked down. He wasn't sure what the last couple of dishes it had produced were, or whether he might have eaten empty packaging rather than the product. Before the grandfathers came, breakfast had been a few tasteless marshmallows that were, regrettably, sugar-free. The aides had said nothing about it, but they would have nothing either, and even the few not going to Vegas were too valuable to leave to their own devices.

“We're pathetic,” Kirk said while he was contemplating the lack of menu. “Nothing can deliver and your grandfathers are busy. Unless you're determined to starve yourselves to death.”

“Not dead yet,” Sarek remarked. “Your fault, Spock.”

Spock still did not lift his head. “I do not wish to be an orphan.”

The irrational urge to embrace him like Solkar had never been stronger. When Spock had been a baby, Sarek had been concerned at how late he seemed when it came to walking. One of the healers had delicately informed him that a child cannot walk if his feet do not touch the ground. Amanda had been graceless enough to giggle right in front of the healer, who was having a hard time controlling her own impulse. “Why not?”

“Nyota is busy trying to coordinate the Academy's rescue and recovery communications and I would be left alone in case of an invasion by Aunt Pat.”

“You have a point.”

“Two of them,” Kirk added, and got the only loose pillow thrown at his head. “Ow.” Even his objection was pale.

“If I am going to keep breathing,” Sarek said, and paused, reconsidering the wisdom of that, “I require some sort of intoxicant. Unless the _sa'mekh'li_ return, I should go look for food.”

“You might want to wear actual clothing,” Spock muttered into the arm of the sofa.

Sweatpants, slippers, a very old Carbon Creek High School Boosters T-shirt and a bathrobe were not ordinary San Francisco summer afternoon street wear. Ambassador of the second most powerful planet in the Federation? He barely represented enough people to be mayor of a small town. Still, appearances were all that was left, and the niceties like putting on clothing that wasn't full of holes were his shred of civilization.


	4. Broccoli, Booze and Marshmallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The son he's morally obligated to claim isn't his, the son he can claim in public can't be a real Vulcan, and the real Vulcan son he can't claim.

Broccoli, Booze and Marshmallows

 

_Full Vulcan citizenship is granted to those who are naturally born on Vulcan, within the Code of Surak, not vrekampt, and claimed by a mother who is a Vulcan citizen. The bondmate of a Vulcan citizen mother may claim a child born during the marriage if she cannot._

_Conditional Vulcan citizenship is granted to those born of a Vulcan mother off-planet or born by artificial means from a claiming Vulcan mother's genetic material on or off-planet._

_No citizenship can be granted to those with no Vulcan female parent or to those artificially conceived with the genetic material of a Vulcan male_.

_\--Vulcan High Council decision, 2150 CE_

 

He left without bodyguards, taking a chance on the lift; the destruction had irritated nearly every earthquake fault in the area, and the city had been shaking like jelly for a week, which was even less helpful to those who had watched Vulcan collapse. Once he shouldered open the front door, he was surprised to find sunshine. It was dusty light, and the sidewalk had a few gaping cracks to step over, but he got as far as the enormous chunk of skyscraper that forced a detour through the lobby of the mostly safe Cultural Center. The chunk was much smaller than it had been, thanks to a half-dozen of the embassy's Vulcans who were alternately calmly surveying it and kicking it to pieces. “No equipment is available,” one of them explained as he went by. “We thought it should be removed before we leave.”

“Quite logical,” he agreed, wishing he could help. One of the others nodded curtly and smashed his fist into a fissure, causing another small boulder to calve from the piece of concrete. He politely declined to notice the green splashes on the stone as he went around on the newly opened sidewalk.

The corner shop's owner, glad to see one of his faithful customers, apologized for being out of nearly everything and sent him to the liquor store, where he scored a bag of chocolate-covered peppermints and a fifth of vodka for Kirk and Nyota. The liquor store proprietor had been allowed to reopen an hour before and had already sold three-quarters of his remaining stock. “Go to the bakery, quick. Esther baked for the first time since it happened. The ship and buildings all missed her place.”

Good news had seemed too much to ask, and so had the prospect of actual food. As he left the store, the combination in the bag forced a memory and an inward smile. Ah, the Vulcan research station in the most miserably cold inhabitable part of the Terran solar system. Much had been accomplished there and much remained hidden, like the ideas that not everyone was devoted to logic, the legendary intelligence division was not a legend, and that the two facts were most closely related.

The work had to be done, but the pure misery of living days from anything in heavy air, bitter cold and inadequately insulated quarters had led the multispecies crew to invent vodka, peppermint and chocolate liquor on the grounds that the Klingon liaison, any Terran interns and all of the _v'tosh ka'tur_ could get drunk off the same bottle. _Odd that I'd think of them when no one has heard_ , he thought with a crushing pinch of his heart, then recognized the feeling; _could it be_? Hope grew beyond reason as he crossed the remains of the street, stepped over a few pieces of rubble and made slow way uphill through another minor earthquake and a coughing fit to the familiar Academy Heights bakery. The store was almost stripped in spite of the warm scent of fresh sourdough. “Esther, I'm pleased--” As his eyes acclimated, he realized the baker was serving a customer whose elfin ear poked through her brown cornsilk hair. Before he could finish the sentence, the sound of his voice made the customer turn.

No explanations were necessary, no excuses given; the slender young woman greeted him with crossed hands and a gentle smile, her earnest grey eyes searching his and leaving hope. “I've been on duty almost 24/7 since the crash until today and he just got in. He's here, not hurt, just up the street looking for vegetables.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “You...when the _Vengeance_ , we thought surely...I heard Spock and Kirk were alive, but that was before this last. Are they still?”

“They are, but they're not well. They're with us at the embassy. My grandfathers are taking care of us. Of them. James is a hero and insane after his brief death. My son is predictably heroic and distressed for having seen it.” He hefted the bag of peppermints. “Speaking of which...?”

“This does seem like a reasonable time to partake.” Judy popped a candy into her mouth. “He's been picking up donations, recovering archives and...all,” she added, mindful that some things were not to be discussed in public. Even looking at her, it seemed too much to ask, and if Ruven--“Better get your bread, isn't that right, Esther? We can talk on the way to the tram stop. You shouldn't be walking.”

“Doctors,” he said. He gathered the last plain loaf and followed her out of the store. He would have to tell her; hadn't Amanda thought the world of her? “Judy, you do know that...my wife...”

“I heard.” The brush of her fingertips against his arm was comfort. Her name had been so close to Judy in any case that it was easier for her human patients; living beyond the Code of Surak, she didn't have to worry about what the council would say even before, and now-- “Exactly. When your mother gave adepts the choice of Kolinahr or off the planet, we took the hint. Now we're most of what's left. Oh. There.” She gestured up the street, and the invisible bond reached out.

The tall young Vulcan striding down the hill had been walking with downcast eyes, hunched into his black flight jacket, until his head snapped up at Judy's silent call. He didn't have to gasp; Sarek felt his unshielded shock and joy from fifty feet away. “Oh, you. Alive and all. Is he? Are they?”

“Not that they're enjoying it.” Sarek eyed him. Ruven was bigger and more solid all over than the last time they had met; he was beginning to grow into his big frame, and his shoulders had taken on a breadth that promised future muscle under the Air Galactica captain's epaulets. The logo on the front chest was silver wings and three elegant bands of Vulcan calligraphy under the company name: Anything, Anytime, Anywhere. “Changes have come to you as well, Ruven.”

“Too many missions...” he lifted his head and made a halfhearted wave toward downtown. _And that_. The soft, wary baby-faced assassin was gone; this one looked as sober and responsible as anyone in town at the moment, not that it would have taken much.

“Have a mint, hon,” Judy said. “Sarek hooked me up.--How'd the foraging go?”

Nobody had to offer twice. “The last shuttle run filled all the space on our cargo barge, so today I brought the shuttle back with a load of donations for here. I don't know whether the Terrans are being generous or throwing stuff at us to get us to leave.”

“You may have company. Kirk and Spock are on medical leave for at least the next few weeks. Dr. McCoy hasn't been able to join us often because he's too busy at the hospital, and Nyota is badly needed at the Academy.” _And badly needed upstairs at the embassy as well. Perhaps her mother would forbid her to go. Who could blame her? Who would give their child into my care now?_

 _That was Not. Your. Fault._ Even in thought, Ru was nothing if not determined. “Starfleet is afraid they'll do something else heroic and wipe them out completely. We could certainly use them, but I don't suppose Spock would consider it.” Ruven began to name people they knew who had been off Vulcan at the end. It was a better list than Sarek had imagined. “...and Lia ordered me to find you, look at you and tell her how you are, but I can't be more precise, owing to _details_ ,” he finished, leaving an unwelcome image in the air. “Has anyone visited since it happened?”

“Only Amanda's sister.”

That made his dark eyes go wide. “Not Aunt Pat! Tell me she went back to hell, or Iowa, whichever came first?”

At least they had Ruven. Perhaps that was more than he had imagined. Clanless men like him were pariahs to the Council of Elders until the stock of Vulcans ran too short to spare them. “I gave her Amanda's half of the farm and told her to enjoy it.” _Preferably the part that's six feet deep._ “Is it possible for you to spend some time with us?”

“I have free time from now till tomorrow when we lift off,” Ruven said. “Can we try to talk Spock and his friend into coming? You _are_ coming with us, aren't you? It's not as if the Embassy will be busy, and you all need to be away from here.”

“I warn you the embassy isn't warm or comfortable and the power is erratic, but you are most welcome.” It was all he could do not to beg. “Kirk suggested I requisition food for the few of my aides who haven't gone to Vegas. The grandfathers will go to New Vulcan soon, civilian supplies are still in very short stock and I don't think any of them care what, when or if they eat.”

“I can handle a little theft in office.” Judy poked at her padd, requisitioning a case of Vulcan-safe MREs on her hospital account. “That way, they have no excuse not to eat enough to stay alive.”

“I haven't been of use to them. All of us have lost so much that they are no more functional than I.” Most were young, many half-trained, and their own mindstorms had been painful to be around when they had only heard what happened at the Battle of Vulcan or seen vids from a distance; he could only imagine what his and Spock's live memories were doing when he walked through them without much meditation and many conscious efforts to lock everything down.

“You've had your share,” Judy said. “Now, and before.”

He was about to dismiss the idea, but her words brought his youth back with a stab. Off at the research station, caught at a very bad time, the older scientist, herself just widowed, making the offer... he had always admired T'Rea, but none of his dreams had ever included that. Mortified and terrified did not begin to describe his state when she walked him back to her room, explaining things under her breath that surely no one would ever say in public. “I was grateful for her life. She taught me much,” he said, then that shadow of Amanda's giggle made him add “I didn't mean about _that_!”

“Yes, you did.” Judy obligingly kept her eyes on the ground as they went up to the Academy. “I was about to suggest that you survived her death and you'll survive this, too.”

Logically, it should have been the same. Actually, it wasn't. Rea had left him for Gol and cut off all ties long before she died. The masters always congratulated new Kohlinari because “pain, grief _and_ _most especially love_ ” would never again trouble them. The formal “I grieve with thee”s on her actual death had been strange and difficult for his equally young fellow students. Now, his own grief seemed to be a spark in a brush fire that crackled around him. When the _Vengeance_ had begun to plunge through the buildings, most of the pedestrians in the way had run aside; a number of Vulcans caught outside had simply turned to face it. He had turned to face it and had made one of Amanda's gestures, which some of his students had seen, later asked about, and covertly repeated. The first person to him after the concrete stopped falling was a Klingon medic who flung aside the building shard that pinned him, looked for blood and growled “You, sir, are a man of great courage. _Ka-plaa_!”

“He was right,” Judy said softly. Of course she would have picked up on the image. “Wait here. I'll run and get the package.”

He and Ru watched her to the door. No one seemed willing to let any live Vulcan out of sight, and besides, Sarek knew, his shields were too ragged to hold off Ruven's inquiries about the day the crumbling starship plunged across the landscape. Ru pressed his knuckles to his mouth at the view from Academy Heights. “It looks even worse from the ground than when I flew in. The dust, and the smell...” That, bad enough for Terrans, intolerable for Vulcans. “Do we know how many dead here?”

“They venture a guess of two to three thousand. 'Estimate' is too generous a term.” The dead cadets and embassy staff were a constant pressure and presence. Why did they seem more than six billion and the planet they lived on?

Why did one life matter more than the rest?

“It doesn't have to be logical. It just is.” Were Ru's words spoken, or thought? “She mattered to you, and that's all that does matter.”

Judy hurried out the back door of the Academy with the carton on her shoulder and another under her arm. “Courtesy of Dr. Ahmed, and we have more to pick up tomorrow for my supply chest at the colony. I told him I only needed enough for the advance party, but he said he's unwilling to concede anything to chance right now. With what he packed for me I should be able to patch up a small army.”

When they arrived at the apartment, neither Kirk nor Spock had moved. The fvav had moved to Kirk's chair and was resting her chin on his knee, looking up at him with her huge sad eyes. Nyota patted Spock's back to get his attention. “Hey. Company.”

Ruven had been lingering behind her in the doorway, dark-clad in the dark hall. He stepped out into the afternoon light from the window. Jim flicked his eyes (doubtless the only part of his body that wasn't unbearably sore, Sarek thought) from one face to the other. Ruven thought _Does he know?_

Spock stirred, half-turning.  _It would be hard to miss, wouldn't it?_


	5. Unsheathed Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dangerous things can be good to have around.

Unsheathed Swords

 

Kirk woke from a half-doze, expecting to see Nyota fussing over Spock again. Instead, he blinked at the young man in front of him. “Holy crap. I mean--” Oh, great, way to impress the Vulcan who was doubtless some important guest, but what the--? Never mind the hawk face far too much like Spock's; the newcomer's stance and bearing screamed _combat veteran_ , probably special forces to boot, and he was obviously a merchant marine captain already. Kirk guessed three or four years older than Spock, awfully young to have been in as many bad spots as the man's mien suggested. Then again, given what Kirk and Spock had already seen...he couldn't put a finger on the difference; was a knife any more dangerous for lack of a scabbard?

“You haven't met me, you're not hallucinating, call me Ru, everyone does, and please don't try to get up.” Kirk saw the trace of alarm, the quick glance back at the doctor who had come with him. She wore a name tag on her scrubs: Judy T'Khai M.D. Since when were Vulcans named Judy? He nearly heard her quick mental estimate: _it looks worse than it is now, it was terrible, but he isn't going to die now_. He did see Ru's almost imperceptible nod, saw him gather himself, then take the spot in the middle of the couch. He didn't have to say _I grieve with thee_ once he got between Spock and Sarek;  that was as painfully obvious as it was obviously painful. Ru pulled vodka from the bag, broke a half-dozen of the patties into pieces and shoved them down the neck of the bottle. They began to melt, swirling into the liquor in stripes of chocolate and white. Sarek said something to him in Vulcan and went to the galley. A pack of chocolate syrup flipped out and Ru caught it without turning, then dumped a large quantity into the vodka as well and handed Kirk the bottle.

It seemed odd, but why not? “Down the hatch,” he said. Other than being eye-wateringly high-proof, it wasn't at all an unpleasant belt. He wiped the neck on his sleeve and handed it to Sarek, who, to his surprise, took an almighty gulp and passed it along.

“You had to watch that,” Ru sighed. He hadn't asked a question; evidently he and Sarek were bouncing ideas back and forth, and Kirk wasn't sure Spock hadn't joined the...wait, he _had_ , and Kirk could hear some of it like an overheard conversation halfway down a corridor. Mostly it was a parade of fuzzy images, some he already owned but would rather not have had from a different perspective. “I'm sorry we couldn't get back when Khan came.”

That, he had thrown in aloud for Kirk's benefit. It already hung like fog in the air. “It wouldn't have helped,” Spock said. “Nothing would once I...”

“Wasn't all-knowing and all-powerful?”

“You must concede it would have been useful.” Sadness, affection well hidden, and the unmistakable overtone of worry over Kirk; he could feel all of that brush by. The image of the control room from the other side of the glass was far too clear. There had been times in these past mad weeks when he could have sworn he could read Spock's mind. Now he understood it to be literally possible.

 

Sarek busied himself with the food as long as he could, then went out silently to the top of the stairwell, where Judy curled her head into her knees. “Aaah, I should have known,” she sighed, her voice muffled. “It's been all around me so much this week that I forget to leave the shields up.”

Either that, or she was too polite to say they were as badly overloaded as his own. He sat on the step beside her, eyes on the windows while he tried to wrap her in a peace he no longer owned. “How many humans have been so glad to see you that they've attempted a bear hug?”

That got a muffled chuckle. “Believe me, a healer only forgets that detail once. Mine was in my residency. I was filling out a birth record with my back to the door, but centered on the patient in labor in the next room, and her frightened and late-arriving Romulan mate, very kind and fortunately nearly psi-null, was so glad to see I'd been there that he grabbed me from behind, right across the nerves.”

“I suppose that was interesting.”

“Picture yourself on a warm bright day. Now have someone dump a large bucket of ice over your head and beat on the bucket with a shovel while your head is still in it. As for him, the poor thing bounced off the wall behind me. He had no idea, because we don't talk about it.” She blew out a slow control breath. “We, as in all-of-Vulcan we, have never talked about most things.”

“Amanda called it the elephant in the room. Don't ask. Don't tell. What you wonder about is in the libraries if you aren't ashamed to look.”

“Exactly.” Judy straightened up, eyes locked on the ruins beyond the stairwell windows. “I didn't grow up on Vulcan. My parents were home at our colony when it happened. I'm part Romulan on _sa'mekh'li's_ side, everybody is that close to the border. Still, we visited for all the important festivals, and my cousins had expectations. Life would follow a logical progression. Naming ceremony on the mountain. Marriage at Koon. The University, the Science Academy, or for the mildly rebellious the Academy of Art and Music, which was more like the Academy of Strict Expectations and Not Much Creativity, because the creative is illogical and unnerving.”

That was all too true. His own difficulties in musical composition and performance had taught him that the elders were not enthusiastic about innovation. “Creativity implies a break with the past. Perhaps we should have broken with it before.”

“Ah, but it was what else we don't want to admit: comforting. From birth to the day a priestess carried your katra to the repository, there was a correct way to act in every awkward or disturbing situation and a ceremony for it. Now there's no one to tell people how not to feel, and they _do_ feel, without a clue what to do about it.”

“I'm alarmed with thee,” Sarek said, and after a second Judy giggled helplessly.

“I know. What else is there to do?--Ru and I were talking about that. We were saying last night, if Lia can't get back here for _months_ , I may be the one left to handle...ah, it doesn't bear thinking about.” She pushed open the outer door and took her scan and patch kit from her pocket. “So. Wonder how many broken hands I'll need to fix down here?”

Three, as it turned out, and numerous deep cuts and abrasions, but the crew had reduced the roadblock to a pile being picked up by one of the street department trucks. Judy produced bone glue and splints from the numerous pockets of her cargo pants, tsked over the compound fracture on one man's fist and sent him to the Academy orthopedics department, and washed concrete dust out of a couple of eyes. Sarek was used to watching Vulcans accept medical treatment with stoicism, but not with the thousand-yard stare that seemed universal. “You're right,” Judy said as they chanced the elevator again to spare his ankle. “I know you weren't up to Ru and me there, bonded, and Spock and Nyota with whatever's going on that sure feels like a bond, and you...”

“I'm all right.” Well, wasn't _that_ a hopeless as well as useless lie?

Ru was solemn when he offered what was left of the bottle to Sarek. He was more than ready for another slug of it and handed the rest to Nyota, who passed it to Spock, who didn't argue. “I am considering accompanying the delivery to New Vulcan,” he said to the wall.

Spock did not meet his eyes. “I would go as well.”

“Someone will have to look after the captain.”

Kirk opened one eye, looking considerably more relaxed than he had earlier. “Earth doesn't seem too fond of me right now. Didn't you say you're a doctor?”

“I'll get some hints on human care,” Judy said. “I just messaged Len, but he's not able to leave. Actually, I think the idea of getting on any kind of vessel right now...” Nyota winced and nodded.

“Understood,” Sarek said. “Would I be of use were I to go?”

“It would be a logical use of your time. The Embassy is unlikely to have any business here that falls within your exclusive responsibilities.” He could almost hear the rest of Ru's sentence: _And besides, you'd get the hell out of here_.


	6. Pizza and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's one thing to know, and another to have someone else tell you.

Later that night Leonard McCoy came in, bearing several pizzas, and pronounced both young men more or less fit to travel and thoroughly ready to do it. “Wish I could come with you, but the idea of going back into space right now has me thinking twice about the whole Starfleet thing.”

Sarek tried to remember that McCoy was not Vulcan. The old priestesses would have informed him, ever so icily, that a poor outcome was unlikely to replicate and that one's courage might be in doubt if one did not confront fear with self-control. He found it hard to sympathize with the priestesses, who were dead in the black hole or the dust cloud. With Amanda. Maybe she could straighten them out.

“Ambassador, I didn't know whether you like pizza, so I guessed at the veggie special. Believe it or not, there's a place open again on the other side of Golden Gate Park.” Sarek took a piece. It wouldn't be Stella's. At one time, the thought of ever being forced to consume more Stella's would have sent him into a fast. Ru and Judy winced, but joined him. Spock looked at the box for a second and thought of reaching over. Ru handed him a slice before he could. McCoy's anxiety hung between them, too transparent to mask the heart beneath it. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, we were reminiscing. Long story about the worst pizza on Vulcan,” Judy assured him.

“Oh. Stella's?” McCoy grinned. Sarek could imagine Judy telling stories, whether or not they conformed with proper Vulcan reticence. If everyone believed Stella's to be awful, those who didn't need to go there wouldn't, nor would they accidentally go through the supply closet into the basement. “There was just something _wrong_ about some of those menu items.”

“They mixed up 'banana peppers' and 'bananas', and that was only the beginning of pizza misunderstandings. There was no Stella Crocetti, either. The marketing department thought using an Italian name would make off-worlders think better of it. Many thought better of it after they ate there.” Ru licked his fingers and mopped them off with a napkin before he opened another box. “I'm glad you thought of this, Nyota. We got drunk and had bread, broccoli and marshmallows this afternoon.”

“You can't do that when these three are trying to get over injuries. No matter what you feel like, these boys gotta eat.” Len's pique drew a silent _Thank you_ mouthed by Nyota. “So does everybody else over here. I'm glad your grandfathers packed Silek off to Vegas for rest and decent chow. Two of those aides I saw downstairs look like a good gust of wind would blow them over.”

Judy didn't try not to look worried; she was a doctor, and inward worry was their normal state even as projected calm was their usual aura. “This is a lot to ask anyone to take in, and what's happened to the city here isn't helping. It's too bad they can't all get off world for a while.”

The passport office alone had an immense staff. He was suddenly glad of the nepotism that had overloaded the department. “Children and young parents can't go to the colony until all of the buildings are ready. The elders are fragile enough not to be able to go. Selik took along my sehlat. She can't go into space when she's that close to giving birth.” What had possessed him to allow that breeding? It wasn't as if there had been a sehlat shortage...until recently. Very recently. The few in zoos, the few pets off world, the few sets of genetic material...they, too, were endangered. He pushed the thought away to where Amanda could take care of it.

The grandfathers arrived near midnight as usual, after the younger people had all gone off to bed. “Another week to ten days and we'll be done here,” Solkar said. “Is that pizza?”

“Yes. It's not Stella's.”

“They ran out at the search center.” Mestral wrapped a slice in a napkin and looked him up and down. “You still look terrible, but you're better than you were last night. You two talk. I'm gonna go turn in.”

“Subtle, isn't he?” Solkar shook his head as Mestral stamped down the hallway. But yes, I do want to talk to you.” He sat on the couch and motioned at the other side.

“I'm listening, sa'mekh'li.”

He looked out at the dark, the scene lights illuminating a late and desperate search, the little fires popping up as usual. “Twelve hours today, no live finds.”

“There won't be any. I thought there might be one this morning, but Ru and I agree...not now.”

“And you two would know.” Solkar made a small graceful gesture toward the window. “I won't ask how busy it's been here today.”

“I answered mail, stamped passports and went out to buy liquor. That was not the best idea.”

“Not if you do it all the time. Once in a while, well, it keeps us going, doesn't it? The other things...the things I've done myself...those, you can avoid. But that's not what I wanted to say.” He made the same little gesture. “This, all of this, is not enough for you. You have a degree in astrophysics, and it's not really your job. It was expected, you were decent at it, you taught well, and that was supposed to be enough because it was logical, but we both know it's boring to do the same thing for a hundred years. Diplomacy will need you eventually, but at the moment, there won't be much travel off-world to any interesting half-secure locations until Starfleet sorts itself out. It's time to think about what you do next, Sarek.”

“I'm unsure as to what that will be.”

“I'm not. You're a musician at heart. That much I know. You also have a healer's hands.” Solkar held his own hand up beside Sarek's. “Tell me you don't.”

Every Vulcan old enough to have training knew how to do the ordinary small repairs a touch telepath could manage. Most could judge the severity of an injury or whether a bone was broken. Beyond that, traditional healers had lost their place in favor of medical instrumentation. “We have so many machines to do that now.”

“And there are times when we don't have the machines, or when they take too long. Last night, what did I really do for you?”

“Other than keep me relatively as sane as I can be for awhile?”

“No, specifically. I could have gone after my tricorder and scanned you, or I could put my hand over the hot spot and find where the nerve was pinched. I'll use a tricorder if there's time. Sometimes there isn't. Not all traditions were bad ones. It's time you admitted you've got that to use, and use it.”

“For what?”

“You're going to New Vulcan with two doctors for two thousand settlers, one a gynecologist and the other a psychiatrist. Granted, we all need the latter and I'm glad it's Davy even if there are things I'd sooner not discuss with my son, but he's marginal in most physical medicine. You must admit we need many more medical staff than that in case of trouble.”

“There will be. You've seen it, haven't you?”

“Nooo, you're not an empath, noooo, that never happens to men. Riiiiiiight.” He folded his hands as if in prayer and was silent a few moments. “Nick and I looked at every iteration we could think of, and there is no nonviolent future we can find in this damaged timeline. At all. Most are so bad that we discard them immediately because they're unusable. It's why he was so quick to go and hide tonight. He knows you see right through him. The two of you are so, so much alike. Right down to the falling in love with a human. You might have had a better life if you'd settled Amanda in some quiet little Western Pennsylvania town and got your adrenaline kick running on an emergency squad.”

Not that he hadn't told himself exactly that since it happened. “Not necessarily. I would have been exposed to her sister.”

Solkar inclined his head to concede the point. “In any case...it's bad, and even the scenarios that offer hope get much worse before they improve. Those hands, boy. Learn to use them. I can recommend a lot of texts, but I can also teach you the rest of it. You'll need it.”

“Then there is Spock...”

“Not as much. I'll show him what he'll need, but this isn't him. Ru will do this one day, along with everything else, because he can't help it and he's going to be doing six things at once all his life. Spock _needs_ to be on that ship with Jim for as long as possible. Nothing else is ever going to work.”

Sarek considered that, which was no news at all. Hadn't Spock Prime said as much when they talked? Prime had given him a substantial piece of his mind about a great many things, including an angry empath's potential talent for getting an entire starship crew into a knock-down drag-out brawl.

He reached over to a spot on the back of Solkar's shoulder and gave it a gentle thump to loosen the muscle. “Right?”

“Yes. Thank you. It's a start, kid.”


	7. Breakfast, Not at Tiffany's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least one Vulcan knows how to cook. Just don't ask him to take off his shirt. (In the Enterprise episode, Mestral was obsessed with watching I Love Lucy. I couldn't resist the idea of Star Wars still being an ongoing franchise and Galaxy Quest being an actual long-running 21st-century TV show with multiple reboots.)

Kirk found himself in the ambassador's kitchen at dawn after nature had called. On the way back, he smelled actual food and made a detour in case he wasn't hallucinating that, either.

There was a smaller, stockier Vulcan frying something on the cooktop. If John looked massive and magisterial, this one looked like somebody's Terran grandfather who happened to have pointed ears. While Kirk watched, he flipped a couple of slices of French toast, leaned on the counter with one hand, planted the other on his hip and looked over. “Well, good morning. You don't look quite so much like the cats dragged you in.”

“You have to be Nick Mestral.”

“Unless you're a coal mine inspector, yes.” He turned back, shoveled some of the French toast onto a plate and handed it over. “Forks are in the drawer. I found a loaf of bread, four eggs and a half-pint of milk.--So. Hanging around with us, are you?”

“It seems so.”

“You don't have to make nice. You still feel like somebody backed over you with a loaded trip and you have weird nerve connections all over.”

“How did you...” Before he could finish, John stalked in, dressed for work, to loom over Mestral's shoulder. Nick handed him a plate and something went back and forth between them that Kirk could only describe as a wordless teasing argument. Nick reached up and scratched the back of John's shoulder with his knuckles, causing even more if-I-get-my-hands-on-you mental horseplay.

“When I first came back this last time, you wouldn't believe what that was hooked to,” John explained. “He'd do that just to annoy me in public.”

“It always worked,” Nick shrugged. He turned off the cooktop and sat at the table. “Jim's having the same problems you did with that. Scratch your nose by scratching your elbow, and all. Hey. He's staying around us, so he needs to know how not to get himself killed.”

“Hmm.” John thought for a while. “Don't insult Spock's mother.”

“Check,” Kirk said. “Already did that, still have the bruises. Sarek was nice enough to tell him to stop before he choked me completely to death.”

“Ah, so we're good there. I don't mind if you eat meat, don't mind if you cook it, but let me know if you're going to. I just...can't be around it, even fake meat. Don't touch Sarek's hands.”

He couldn't imagine that circumstance, but Nick added “Seriously. He can explain someday, but we'll just say they're arthritic already. He'll jump like he's been shot and usually that's all that happens.”

“Except with that Klingon,” John said with a tiny smile. “But he deserved it.”

Nick raised his fork and tried to make his green eyes look innocent. “No means no, even for a drunk Klingon who thought he was, and I quote, 'really, really cute.' Good thing it wasn't Davy.”

“Don't flirt or he'll return the favor. He can't be a Vulcan because I'm his genetic father, he isn't welcome on Earth because his mother did some modifications, so he's among the mass of people in limbo if the Council tries to enforce the old rules. It's the same for Ruven. He was supposed to be my wife's and mine. We were unable to have a natural child after I came back last time, so Lia carried him for us...then we found out they used the wrong sample. He's Sarek's even if the law won't let either of us claim him. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to conceive. You may say 'ewwwww' now. Family tree being a pole jokes are old hat but still permissible.”

“That doesn't seem the least bit fair to Ru.”

“It's not.” Nick put another slice of toast on his plate. “You need that. By the way, the coffee's ready. That, they still had.--If he had to have three-quarters of his DNA from somebody, he could have done a hell of a lot worse than Shaishonna. There was a good woman.” He pulled his padd out of his pocket and poked at it. “Most Vulcans pretend there's no reason to carry family pictures. I gave that up about 1959 when the first grandson came for Maggie and I laid claim to him.”

There were many clips, some obviously in Carbon Creek, some in places he knew he'd have to ask about—why were John and Nick in World War II uniforms, and why was Ru with them?--and many from Vulcan. One was John in green scrubs. A toddler girl on his knee gazed up in wonder at the tiny baby cradled to his chest. “There's Lia admiring Sarek. He must have been up to almost a kilo by then. There's another thing—don't offend Lia's brothers in front of her.”

“I came _that_ close to getting them to name him Luke,” John sighed. “Too bad Stor caught on. I don't think I could have got them to go for Han when Selik got here, though.” He handed Kirk coffee. One sip convinced him that Vulcans were incredibly tough.

“And _Star Wars 23_ isn't as good as 22 was,” Nick added. “When you can't sleep, I have a whole stock of old Terran television and movies because they're so hard to find now. All seven seasons of _Galaxy Quest_ , all five of the first reboot, all ten of the third one...”

“Don't bother with the first reboot. It was awful. I know you brought the whole set of _I Love Lucy_. That goes without saying.” John put away his plate and dusted off crumbs. “I'll get moving now. Keep filling Jim in if it won't scare him.”

That sense of snark and tease hovered again as John left. Nick looked up from his padd. “Yeah, it's like that, and it embarrasses the grandkids. Doesn't it, Spock?”

“Embarrassment would be illogical.” He had made his way down the hallway leaning on Nyota's shoulders and now gingerly set himself down. Nick shoved a coffee mug at him. The warning that occurred to Kirk was obviously unnecessary, because Spock took a large gulp of it with no apparent surprise or alarm. “You were issuing cautions?”

“We were. Did we miss any?”

Spock clearly put thought into the answer. “When Father is...working on a frustrating project...”

“When he gets mad,” Nick said over the rim of his coffee mug. Nick's commentary was like subtitles on a vid, and it was all Kirk could do to keep a straight face.

“He tends to use colorful idioms acquired from his diplomatic practice.”

“Kid's got a mouth on him and he didn't get it from a stranger. The way people treated him when he was growing up, he needed all of those words.”

“There is a certain...logical progression...when it occurs. Hardly anyone will admit to recognizing Vulcan profanity.”

“Even though we cuss till we peel off wallpaper. If we're not yelling, anybody that hears acts like you're speaking Klingon and being totally reasonable. But go on, because it's funnier from you.”

“I was merely trying to be informative.--If the flitter or synthesizer or musical instrument is more difficult to repair, he will progress to Romulan. It has a wide variety of expressions which serve as stress relief even though they do not make sense.”

“As in, an engine does not actually have an anus.”

“Correct. When the task is nearly accomplished but some major difficulty remains, he will use one of your Terran expressions. Once he casts aspersions on the object's mother in Standard, it's best not to be in the area until the task is complete.”

“My fault. It's always been my favorite.” Nick looked at the ceiling. “Sorry, Maggie. It took me three weeks in 1957 Pennsylvania to learn to cuss, lie, drink beer and yell at umpires. I never looked back, but she wished I'd have left the language out of the package deal. Oh!--never try to get a Vulcan man to take his shirt off. Some of the v'tosh ka'tur women are old-school and don't do the Kohlinahri modesty thing, but most men even if they're way over the line won't take their shirts off if they're older. They might have scars from all the fights back when that nobody talks about...”

“Or have tattoos,” Spock finished for him. “Which may be unfortunate.”

“Not that he'll find out,” Nick actually grinned.

Kirk sipped his coffee carefully and wondered whether the v'tosh ka'tur would think it was funny to maroon a guy on Delta Vega. He decided that he'd sooner take the chance than not.


	8. Call of Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duty calls, and it isn't always pleasant.

Call of Duty

 

The smallest things stabbed at him sometimes. Her clothing was still in the other side of the closet. The blue silk gown she had worn so often, the filmy gold wrap for cool San Francisco evenings, and how many shoes could one woman wear? Silek had offered to pack her things away, but it wouldn't have been any easier for him to handle. _Kaiidth_ , she was gone. If there was no reason to hold on, neither was there a reason to hurry.

Who would have thought that packing a trunk would be enough to set off a backache? He had done it at least a hundred times, usually with one of the aides doing most of the packing and he needing only to add whatever was too personal or politically sensitive for them. Even counting the number of times he'd done it all himself, it was completely routine. That was not sufficient cause for his back to go so stiff that he couldn't straighten up.

He considered the possibility that it wasn't his own pain. When he put a hand to his own spine, his hypothesis validated. Carefully turning down the volume on the gateway until he could stand straight, he reached for his padd. _Spock, sit down._

_How did you know--_

_Sit. Down. Now. I'm trying to pack my trunk and your back hurts me too much._

He had never come through that clearly, not even the times he'd been injured on duty. Both times there had been major battery, the situation had been so uncontrolled that many other voices were shrieking at the same time; was that why he seemed so clear now?

“S'haile, I can finish that.” What was her name? She hadn't been at the embassy for long, a young woman who needed a place to go after her whole family was lost while she was at an academic post at the Academy. “There are calls from the media if you wish to respond.” She rather pointedly noticed he hadn't been monitoring the news feed. “Another incident, _osu_. Over a thousand Vulcan prisoners of war and associates this time, and it was on the very edge of the Neutral Zone. The edge toward Terra. And...there was a communication from the Daise'khre'Riov'.”

He reached up to switch on the feed ( _I am serious, sa'fu, take your pain medication, I can't reach the news feed three feet away_ ) to see the impassive face of the Romulan admiral, not the stock shot but live. T'Arreinye was of middle age, stately, with the air of barely throttled malevolence that characterized every high-ranking Romulan he had ever encountered. She favored heavy cosmetics, great sweeps of kohl and smoke-green shadow around her obsidian eyes, perhaps to mute the effect of the ugly black scar that ran from her cheekbone down her neck. She looked especially despotic on this occasion, possibly as a result of the bottle of blue ale in her hand, the hint redoubled by her normally crisp voice slurring words and seeming thick-tongued as he caught her in mid-rant: “Do you think that was all? Did you think I would miss a single one of those rats? Did you think I would have any mercy on those Yyaio? There will be as much mercy in this quarter as the Raptor's Wing showed to the Black Wave. As for the prison guards who thought they were doing some service to the Empire by resisting us, they did none, and they have their just reward. On to the next, and on to rid the Empire of any further threat from Vulcans!”

She cut off the transmission, so the commentator, loath to leave any break in the talking, went on. “Starfleet estimates that the Romulan Fourth Fleet under the Madmiral's command may be as little as a month from being able to assault Terra.” That was disinformation; he knew it wasn't even that far. “Admiral Roskov has expressed confidence that the resources being moved into defensive positions near the Zone should handle any incursions.” Amanda had a word for that, too. Down seven heavy cruisers, with the eighth battered and in sad need of refit, Starfleet was in no condition to swat houseflies, let alone the Romulan Fourth.

A priority squib came through, secure coded. He left the aide to pack his trunk—did he feel a whiff of disappointment? Sorry, but new aides didn't get to sit in on secure comms.

In his office, he keyed the code and waited for the squib to open and unfold. “You saw it, correct? There must be delay, and I'm managing what I can. I need the old Air Galactica address. Davy might have it. We don't remember. I can only hope we're not breaking anything by coming through like this, but it's all I can do considering T'Arreinye is on her way.”

He sent back “Understood, 5423, _glohhasi'mnekha_.” Good hunting, if any Romulans were apt to overhear. They didn't believe in luck any more than most Vulcans did.

The lone press aide he had left set up the conference with a two-hour lead time, in case he had any new information or in case he'd forgotten the street address of Stella's, and because he had the usual trip to make across the debris field to the Academy hospital. He asked John to meet him there and dressed more carefully than usual because of the press conference; odds were 92 percent he wouldn't have time to change, so the patients were going to have to put up with his formal robes.

The young guards at the door fell in with him, trigger fingers nervous on their weapons. He wished to remind three of them of fire discipline, but they meant well and he didn't want to discourage them. They were from the senior class, four survivors. Uhura, as detail commander, pretended she didn't know him, which was only proper. “Finger off the trigger, Ry'chan,” she muttered, and when the Andorian cadet gulped and did as he was told, the others realized their mistake as well. _She has my back_. It was a more comforting thought than he had expected.

Two blocks of walking over small earthquakes and around broken concrete brought them to the Academy hospital's front doors. The lift was working again, so he didn't have to hobble up the steps the way he had the first few days. There was a little lightening of the load as he came out onto the floor, as well; some of the Vulcan patients were in the sunroom playing blackjack and the staff said two had been discharged. Proper congratulations achieved, and a hand dealt and dealt with even though it cost him a few credits, he visited one of the aides who would be in traction for another few days, then went with his grandfather to the room at the end of the hall.

Laying a hand to the door, he asked quietly and received the _Of course_ he was waiting for. The small room was sunny and warm, the young watcher at the bedside attentive though he swung his head around without meeting Sarek's eyes. “Is there any change?”

“No. The doctors say she appears to be the same.”

“Your leg?” No longer painful. He did know that. It was the least painful part of this room.

“I am told it progresses in a satisfactory way.” It was currently missing from mid-thigh down, grown a few inches since the day the _Vengeance_ sheared through. The leg had grown, and so had the mound beneath the covers in the bed. Soon, the human surgeon had said, they would be able to deliver the baby and let the mother go in peace. She faced months of slow healing in any case, and nothing physical suggested she still had her mind. That the Vulcans knew better seemed immaterial.

“My apologies for not being here yesterday. Her surgeon thought it would be ill-advised because of my cough. I brought my grandfather Solkar with me today because he is a healer.” John nodded and began a slow survey of the patient. Sarek had seen the young man's file. His wife had been killed during the attempt to escape Vulcan, as had the woman's husband. They had all known one another in their little town since childhood and had been as inseparable as Vulcan couples could be. The two survivors had picked themselves up, come to San Francisco because it was the gathering point, and had found work. They had been crossing the street together when a building fell on them. While he worked, Sarek asked the young man “Your vision?”

“Not yet. I thought I saw a little light; is there sunshine?”

“Yes. It's a bright day, warmer and less dusty after the rain last night.” John caught his eye and motioned for him to hold out a hand. There was a wild living heat jumping off the back of her neck where the worst of the repaired breaks were. He had felt the jagged places elsewhere, but the neck hurt him to think of it. “Can this be helped?”

“There is a great deal that can be done for this, both traditionally and medically. I spoke to the surgeon. It appears he wasn't aware of some of the differences between human and Vulcan needs when it comes to medication. There's no shame in using whatever it takes.” John excused himself to get the nurse, then spent fifteen minutes straightening out both her medical care and what he could do for her injuries. When the nurse left, he turned to the young man. “I'm going to talk with her doctor. If you have any question at all about her care, I'll be at the embassy for at least the next week and working here in the rescue area through the day.”

Sarek was about to turn and go, but the shadow of his grandfather poked at his conscience. At one time admitting that he could all bet see the young man's despair would have been unforgivable, let alone that he felt the fragile mind in the woman's paralyzed and painful body. _New time, new rules_ , he thought. _And I no longer care who knows._ “She is aware that you are here. Is there anything you have not said to her?”

Ah. The young man had not tried to intrude on her mind, but he wished to. “Sir?”

“The only advice I can give is that if you have something to say...if you, for instance, cherish her...it would be good to say so. It may not be logical, but when one is weighing the wisdom of living, or not, the opinions of others...mean a great deal.”

Even blind eyes could still fill. “S'haile, I...Forgive me...”

“The cause is sufficient.” Not for the first time, he hated the weaselly phrase, but it was the most he could say. Perhaps if he thought loudly enough— _don't wait. Say it now. Beg her. Do anything that is necessary. Do anything that is possible!_ \--he might hear. “Vulcan has lost enough without losing her as well. Her road will be long, and hard, and she will need help with the baby, but even in such matters there is a certain grace, and a journey shared can be most satisfying.”

John had fastened his robes to look properly majestic when Sarek joined him in the hall. “She was in agony, and it was completely unnecessary. Her doctor had no idea that the pain control he was using is useless on us. No wonder she had shut herself away. I managed to give her the idea that the pain is not forever, and between that and reminding her of how to get into a healing trance, she may improve now. Do you still question why I gave you such a hard sell about this?”

The memory of that bright jolting from the woman's neck made him shiver. “Not at all. Teach me. That...no, that cannot happen again.”

“Now think of having someone at the new colony with no specialists around. There are no superfluous Vulcans now, as if there ever were. She's lost enough for no good reason. She doesn't need to lose the rest of her life and a good man as well.” They picked up their guard again and walked across the field to the small crowd on the embassy lawn.


	9. Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk realizes there are no safe places, only interesting ones.

“...must admit, it could have been much worse,” John was saying to Sarek as the guard and the reporters converged by the small forest of mics.

Kirk had nothing better to do, and for once felt not quite so achy, so he had made his way down to watch the press conference. Nick had come with him at first, then ran back upstairs to get a robe. “Gotta blend in,” he said as he hustled back by Kirk. “One thing you learn in this business, it's how to blend in.” Before Nick hit the main door, he was gliding along with his hands tucked into his sleeves, his face properly blank. It was the most Vulcan he'd looked since Kirk had met him.

Spock joined him at the door for a few seconds, so much unease about him that Kirk had no problem feeling it. “Something is not right,” he said. “I do not know what.”

“You know it too. Uhura has it covered, I guess.”

“Not anger, more disturbed thought, confusion.” They looked at each other, the instant exchange that had come more and more naturally. Spock eyed the growing gathering. “I don't like guessing.”

Ru hurried down in his pilot's uniform. “Someone else have the creeps?”

“Majorly,” Kirk said. “Confirming our opinion?”

“There's nothing on the monitors. Nobody has a weapon who shouldn't. I have the clearance to look at all of it...well, you two know that. But this is not right. It feels like something wicked this way comes, or more like something upset and frazzled. Shall we go stand closer?”

Kirk concealed himself behind the comforting bulk of John to hide his lack of uniform. He was also able to offer Spock an arm to lean on, and to his surprise Spock took it.

“Good afternoon,” Sarek said, throwing on the whole ambassadorial package. “There have been some alarming reports in this morning's news feed...” He gave a sanitized and abbreviated account of what Kirk knew to be the facts while his looming herd of family stood by. “Are there any questions?”

“Yes, Shara Ahmed, Bangladesh News. Do you have any further estimate of how many Vulcans may have been lost in these attacks?”

“If the counts claimed by Admiral T'Arreinnye are accurate, five thousand and forty-seven have been removed from prisons and their ships have been blown up. It must be presumed that all are lost.”

“Why were they on the Romulan side of the Zone?”

“Four thousand and seventy-two were aboard captured research vessels. The remainder were on a colony world which was overrun a hundred and thirty-five years ago.”

“Are there others who might be--”

Before the reporter could finish, the Andorian cadet screamed and whirled around, phaser in hand. Just as the question was cut off, so was the man's action; Nyota caught him in the jaw with a hook kick and dumped him to the ground, her dress knife at his throat. “Kroykah!”

 _It came out of her mouth in Vulcan,_ Kirk thought, as if that were the most important part of watching an assassination attempt. Launching himself to knock down some Vulcans was second. Third was the idea, which took far too long to process, that the Vulcans were all bigger than him, hyper-protective and bent on defending everyone and everything around them, which was why Uhura had yelled “Kroykah!” in the first place so no one else got tackled.

The ensuing pileup might have done more damage than the attempted assassin, who broke down in hysterical sobs as soon as one of the other cadets grabbed his wrists. The phaser he had brandished was locked on stun and couldn't have done the damage they feared. Worse yet, Ru had landed on Kirk and so had Spock, and he wasn't sure which of them was angrier, but he was fairly soaked in what was supposed to be masked rage. “Oh, great,” Nick muttered from the bottom of the pile, “now we look like a bunch of perverts on planetary vid.”

Sarek climbed out of the heap with remarkable dignity, helped up two reporters who didn't seem to have anything broken, and said “Perhaps we should move this indoors.”

“ _ **Perhaps**_ ,” Uhura said with her most commanding look, “we should get you all into the building and conclude the conference via video until we're sure the scene is secure.” It was. Kirk could feel it, so he knew the Vulcans could, but Uhura was duty-bound to control the scene, and nobody was about to contradict her. Spock keyed his padd, looking back and forth from it to the distraught Andorian cadet. Mute, he showed the file to Kirk: both parents killed in the Battle of Vulcan.

There weren't a whole lot of questions, even though the ambassadorial staff stood ready to answer them and the rest of the crew was ready to mangle anyone who tried anything else. When the shell-shocked press ebbed away, they were all left in the Embassy lobby. Sarek looked up at John. “ _Kaha'kiv_ ,” he said. “ _Esh-tor, sa'mehk'li._ ”

Alive. Breathe, grandfather. From the look of it, John hadn't thought of that detail. “None of us needed that,” he said, as if it wasn't obvious. “Especially not right there. You're sure you're...”

Sarek took off his outer robe and held his hands up. “See. No blood.”

“It's a good thing. No one over there--” he waved at the hospital, “would know how to treat us anyway, and we're taking the only Vulcan doctor they do have. I vote we get out of here now.”

“No,” Nick said, and Kirk could tell it was an old argument made aloud for the benefit of everyone else, “we're going in the morning, not like a bunch of scared pups taking off with our tails between our legs. We go when we said we were going.”

“You're such a coal miner. It takes the roof caving in to get you to admit--”

“Damn straight it does. Hey. Jim. You all right?”

“Uh, shouldn't you ask Spock?”

“Nah, we know how many of us landed on him so of course he's banged up.”

The object of their concern had been admirably quiet and composed, had he been able to get up from the chair he was sitting on. Four people tried to pick him up at the same time, two ran into each other and Ru ended up lugging him to the lift while Nick and Sarek tried to get their noses to stop bleeding. John picked Kirk up off the floor and dusted him off. “Sorry about that. We get a little too... _enthusiastic_ when people try to kill us.”

“Oh, believe me, I know about how enthusiastic S'chnT'gai can get. I think the bridge of the _Enterprise_ remembers, what with everything he broke with me.”

“There you go. That wasn't even a very sincere assassination attempt, poor kid is probably just out of his mind. What happened to you was a whole different deal and you should be glad Sarek was there to call him off.”

“I did get around to it eventually,” Sarek said, still holding his nose.

“I appreciate it a lot more now. I mean...you were all trying to be _nice_ to me and this happened.” He had a vision of their not being nice to him, and it ended up with an Academy detail, some paper towels and a scrub bucket to remove his few remains.

They trooped into the official quarters and Ru unfolded Spock onto the floor, which might not have been possible had he been human. John made a quick pass with his tricorder. “Nothing broken that wasn't to begin with. Come on, sa'fu'li, you get to help fix this.”

“Really, it's...” Spock began, then gave Kirk the look that said _No, actually it's not fine, but whatever they do is likely to be better than my lying here_.

John got down on his knees, Sarek took the opposite side, and John taught the world's most concise, fast-moving class on detecting nerve pain that Kirk could have imagined. Spock was laid out flat on his stomach and unable to retaliate, for which Kirk was deeply grateful, so the grandfathers insisted he learn what he could as well, and to his surprise he actually could feel the disturbed places. _I shouldn't be able to do that. Something is very weird here. Why can I almost see pain and feel the fear coming off that cadet and sense the rage when Ru went after him?_ “If you can get a Vulcan to be honest with you, most of us have bad backs,” John said. “With humans, it's eighty percent have some form of back trouble and twenty percent lie and say they don't. With us, it may be worse because we don't admit it and we end up like Junior here where you can't get off the floor. We tend to be big, we have heavy bones and stretchy ligaments, we pick up things we shouldn't and we're always doing something stupid because it gives us an excuse to feel that nice jolt of adrenaline. Sarek, you missed that one. About a thumb's width to the right.” What they were doing looked like a slow beating to death, but judging by the relief he felt from Spock's direction, it wasn't that unpleasant. “This is the most useful thing a Vulcan ever teaches anybody, and it's self-serving. There's nothing like lying in a ditch with the heavy flying overhead and having a crick in your neck you can't reach for.”

Without turning around from the secure comm feed, Nick reached back and massaged the back of John's neck, a gesture as casual as it was intimate. “By the way, our little princess wants details.”

“Did you tell her no one was hurt?”

“Yes, but she's sending verifiers with all her messages. That's why she wanted the Stella's address. Nobody forgot, she just needed to make sure it was really us. Apparently some of the news she gets suggested it was a successful coup.”

“Someone engages in wishful thinking.” Sarek nearly sighed. “That's four.” All of the articles about Sarek counted three assassination attempts, two shuttle crashes, one of which might actually have been an accident, and several attempted poisonings.

“Amateur,” John scoffed. “I had three assassination attempts on me and two of them were successful. It's not their fault they didn't keep.” He reached to Kirk and punched his arm lightly. “We members of the Not Quite Dead Club gotta stick together. Now see how different this is.”

The rest wandered off to do one thing or another, leaving Kirk sitting on the floor beside a much relieved Spock. “I feel almost half-human again.”

“Good, because that didn't look like any fun.”

He rolled over carefully and checked a message from Uhura. “She'll be late, but she's coming home.--Tonight may be your last opportunity, Jim. We're heading to New Vulcan and we won't even have the grandfathers with us for a week. Are you certain about this?”

“It's ever so safe on Earth, right? No, I'm good with just getting out of the way for a while.”


	10. Calling All Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you help when there's no way to help?  
> I don't usually do this, but anyone caring to listen to Train's "Calling All Angels" during this chapter might see why it came to mind.

The new guards insisted on walking him across the way to the hospital for evening visiting hours, even though he knew there was no longer a threat. He told the sunroom patients that he was leaving in the morning, told them his grandfathers would be around for the next week,and went up to the locked ward. The guard outside was a little reluctant, but let him through, and the nurses really weren't sure, but relented when he used his best diplomatic glare.

The Andorian boy—he was barely more than a child, after all—was numb with either grief or sedatives, but stood to attention when he realized who Sarek was. “Sir.” The delicate nod of his blue head indicated that he was listening, crossed hands on his chest respect. He expected to be killed on the spot. Even without the thought hanging livid in the air, his culture all but required it, unless...

“You did no harm, Ry'chan. You were brave, in your way, even though you were wrong.”

“I meant...there was nowhere else to get revenge, no one to duel, even though you were not the one...” His antennae had wilted into his hair. “I failed my parents.”

“Not as I understand it. You made an effort, in the face of a far stronger force, even though we were not the enemy you thought. Grief is an odd emotion, and believe me when I say I grieve with thee.” _Touch him_ , Amanda's voice whispered in his ear. _He needs you to touch him_.

_Actually, ashayam, I might punch him if I reach in his direction._

_No. Touch him._ So he did, gently, on the shoulder where it was the proper greeting. Ry'chan flinched, then bowed his head still more. “I am sorry, sir.”

“I know. Be forgiven. May this place heal you.” It wasn't enough, couldn't be enough, not for a half-grown boy with no close family left. He couldn't make it better; all he could do was prevent it from getting worse by saying the right words he had looked up. “There will be no charges. All was on the Embassy grounds, and we can handle that. What happens with the Academy, I may be able to influence in time, but everything now depends on you as you face the pain within. You come from a very good line of warriors. You showed your courage. Now show your strength, little one.”

The boy nodded and made the graceful half-bow of thanks. Sarek bowed back and left, properly, passing by the guards. He was glad to have the time alone in the lift before he went to the last room on the third floor again, getting the usual _Of course_ , but with a bit more heart. “I'll be away for some time and wanted to see you again. And tonight?”

“It _was_ light today,” the young man said. “I went to the window, and I felt the light on my face, but I saw something, a glow of what was. Just now, when you came in, I believed I could see a shadow in the doorway. It may be something.”

“And T'Chai?” he asked, as if he could not feel the relative peace.

“I know she is here. The human doctors still say they're not sure, but they admit many indicators show some small improvement when there should be deterioration. Judy the healer seemed to be very good, and she told them a lot about how to care for her.”

“She will follow the case from New Vulcan and give any advice she can. We won't be set up for serious cases for some time, to be able to take you there with us, but there is that. They know to wait on the baby, correct?”

“They do. She made them understand that it would be much too soon for small Jeran even though a human could be safely delivered now. Although, as I understand it, a certain member of her own family was much earlier than this and, as she put it, 'seems to have turned out all right.'”

No one in the room was apt to see any expression, but he kept it to a small twitch of his mouth. “There's been some debate about that, but it's true he did grow up in spite of everything, and his mother who was so very ill ninety-five years ago is very much alive and in full and fierce possession of her redoubtable faculties.” The Sahara agreed with Mother. It might be the only thing she agreed with. It might also be the only thing on Earth not afraid of her after she had seen the halfhearted assassination attempt.

“Also, s'haile, I took your advice earlier. It was a productive discussion.”

“Excellent.” He felt lightly around the areas that had been broken glass before; they were still prickly, but not sharp slashes. The terrible place in her neck had not healed miraculously, but it had dwindled to steady dull embers that no longer flamed and flashed. Her pain medication had been changed from an unfamiliar human drug to one he recognized that should work, and the doctors had moved her brace and changed her position to relieve it. “Did he show you what you can do for her?”

“Yes, and I've been working on it. She barely responds; is that normal?”

“It is when she's concentrating on healing. She will know you're here, but she won't answer you much, if at all, for two or three days. I must go. Let me know how she does.” Once again, the best he could do might be to not make it worse. Amanda had been so fond of books where a character used magic to solve problems. Where was Harry Potter when a good overpowered wizard would have been welcome? “Oh.” He nudged the young man's hand with a chocolate bar. “I took the liberty of asking Judy. She assures me it won't hurt when you have occasion to celebrate.”

“That it may be,” the young man said. “Kaiidth, but that it may be.”

He glanced over at the Academy on his way back, where the cadet guards would have to shelter. It had lights again, and the broken places looked to be under repair, though the human damage was inestimable. How many more of the cadets needed patching? He wanted to walk those halls, too, not that his presence would do an ounce of good. For that matter, even within the embassy's towering walls, he needed only look around the lobby, pass through the room where the half-dozen staff who were staying were gathered with no real purpose, and go up to the official apartment.

His grandfathers had come in already, a marker of how the recovery operation was winding down. They were in a meditation room together, as usual, with the door left open, as always. _V'tosh ka'tur_ or not, they knelt every night for some time at their altar where John had some pictures and a small box of sand for candles. As he passed, he heard John whispering “Thank you, thank you, we live, thank you.”

Ru and Judy had gone to their room together, safe and accounted for. Kirk and Spock, sleep having fled, were watching one of Nick's old vids. Kirk was trying, ever so gingerly, to laugh.

He went to his own room and looked over the trunk, properly packed. The few small things he would need,he added, then, at the last moment, put three more items in that made no sense. He wanted them with him; if that was illogical, he refused to chastise himself. When he knelt and lit his incense, he did not expect any peace, and yet, after a while, it came to him.

 


	11. Heading Out To Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading out to Eden...
> 
> Sa'mekh=father. Sa'mi=Dad. You can say a lot with a couple of letters.

The captain's voice was smooth and deep on the comm. “Air Galactica 435 to Orbit One, we are prepared for departure, request flightway 27destination New Vulcan.”   
“Roger Air Galactica 435, your tug is the USS Greene. Confirm flightway 27, destination New Vulcan.”  
The cargo ship was a typical Vulcan design with its ring nacelle and the dartlike little detachable command section above its massive holds. It should have been hard to maneuver, but Ru slid it out of the dock expertly, threaded between two other black Air Galactica transports, and picked up the big Starfleet tug meant to give them a shove into interstellar space.   
Spock and Sarek wandered back to the cargo bay's narrow hallway to work and Judy fell asleep in the jump seat, so Kirk sat at the copilot's desk and watched Ru. He obviously knew his way around the docks and the dome as he picked up the tug and moved them out, leisurely but precisely. As soon as the tug gave them the proper shove toward the new colony and cut off to return, the Vulcan sat back in his chair to admire the passing planets. “I like to use 27 out because you get that little extra kick from the moon's gravity. One Earth, blue, green and intact thanks to you. Isn't that beautiful.”  
The remark, casual as it was, jarred him out of his assumptions and nearly out of the seat. “Yes, and I have to admire your piloting.”  
“Thank you.” No delicate evasion, no argument; he knew what he was doing, someone had complimented him and he accepted, just like that. Kirk thought over the Vulcans he had run into and couldn't shake the uneasiness. Still, the man's big bright aura felt like a warm blanket. Once again, he inspected the face. The hair wasn't Spock's satin, but thick and harsh-looking with faint waves, the texture of Sarek's, and he didn't keep it as short or neat. The chiseled cheekbones were there, the jaw threatening to become more resolute as he aged, the eyes that liquid deep brown and gold. “I've been doing this since I was three. No, really. I was on my mother's lap and she let me hold the sticks, but she always had her hands right there until she knew I had it figured out.” He touched the picture on the desk. “Illogical maybe, but Ko'mi Shai rides in all of our ships.” Shaishonna had been tall and pretty in an utterly placid way; there was no doubt where Spock had gotten a lot of his genes and Ru most of his. She was wearing gray in the picture, rather than Air Galactica black. On closer inspection, it was a Vulcan Navy captain's uniform. “Her first husband died young in the civil war, and she was alone for a very long time, so she ran a few science ships, married John, took her retirement and built Air Galactica starting with one old cargo tug and a breaker yard out by Delta Vega.”  
“She must have been quite a woman.”   
“On a decent planet, she'd have been a hero. A lot of people are alive because of Mama Shai. Then again, she wouldn't have liked having a fuss made over her. Only John was allowed to do that.”   
“It must have been hard, with him not even technically alive so much.”   
“She could have married almost anyone else. She turned down all the callers and said she'd wait for him, and all three times she did. She also managed a peaceful, very un-Vulcan death of old age in his arms, surrounded by her whole family. I don't just want to live to be three hundred and ten, I want to live like them.”  
Kirk smiled at the gently snoring doctor in the jump seat. “And have that with her?”   
“That I got covered. I know how lucky I am that she had just left the conference at the ShiKahr Medical Center the morning before the Loss. She didn't know where I was, either, and I couldn't tell her because good reasons, but we did know the bond wasn't broken. I couldn't even let the Embassy know until we got here in person, so naturally Sarek thought we were gone.” Kirk watched him swing past the moon. “I'll give you the travelogue the way I do my retired cruisers. 'On your right and below us, you'll see Tranquility Base. Just ahead, the Mars colony is in sunlight at the moment...' When I go to the big casinos, I try to pull in after local sunset. Night over Vendikaar, with the lights and the city spires, the passengers enjoy it. Nobody needs to know I enjoy it even more. You'll be impressed with the colony. Its shields are iridescent and it looks like a big gold pearl.”   
“You two going to settle on New Vulcan?”   
“They'll need her. I'll keep flying. If nothing else, I do have job security.” Ru glanced down at his news feed with a small grimace. “Don't tell me about Klingon government unrest. If the Klingons didn't have government unrest, they'd be miserable. As for the Romulans, no, New Vulcan does not belong to them, nor would they want it. And as if we needed more good news, uff da, there's already been trouble aboard some of the passenger transports.”   
Judy woke and leaned over his shoulder. “Fights, of all things. No fatalities, people, we can't afford them.”  
Kirk thought that over. The passenger fleet had been gathering Vulcan survivors from off-world assignments or the survivors' camp and shuttling them to the colony. Two thousand-odd of the fittest and youngest, along with a few of the old who insisted on coming along despite their elder privileges, had boarded in haste and shock and were now...Ru shook his head over the news feed and answered as if Kirk had spoken. “You're right, they have no idea. Because no one talks about it.”  
“We were wrong.” The soft words fell like stones. Kirk turned his head carefully to see Sarek haunting the doorway.   
“It must have seemed logical,” Judy offered.  
“It is not logical to pretend that things do not exist.” His eyes were on Ru's back. “Or people.”   
Ru set the autopilot and turned his chair toward him. “It's the way things have always been done. I understood that. No clan, no credentials. It's...”  
“Amanda--” he came close to choking on her name-- “thought otherwise.”   
Ru raised an eyebrow in an all too familiar way. “She was always kind to me.”   
“I was not. I was at the very least proper and diplomatic to others. I was not to my son. Or to you. I wish to express my regret...” he stopped, thought. “No. I am sorry.”  
Ru gave him a small twist of one corner of his mouth. “How much sugar did it take to say that?”  
No wonder Sarek was hanging onto the doorframe. “There remains none in the synthesizer.”  
“Look at it the way I do: you had no idea. Mistakes happen. I've made enough myself for a dozen people, and some haven't turned out all that well for those on the other end. If it had been different, I'd have been different. That might not have been a good thing.”  
Whatever Ru meant by that, Kirk realized, Sarek understood. “Several times,” he agreed. “But the cost, to you. And now, not being able to go...”  
“Home?” Ru said softly. “Another reason why it should have been as it was, don't you think?”  
“At the moment, the idea that anything should be as it is...” Sarek shook his head. “But as for my mistakes...they required amends.”  
“Which you have made. Think no more of it.” Ru turned to glance over the instrument panel again, but he was smiling softly. “Sa'mi.”   
Once the colony route was better established in its database, the cargo ship wouldn't need a pilot, let alone two, so it hadn't been furnished a food synthesizer. Sarek had brought the one from the ambassador's quarters. Even refilled and reprogrammed by one of the distraught embassy aides, it made interesting and random choices—cherry-coconut hot chocolate wasn't bad, but the durian soup was a little much for any of them in an enclosed, and cold, space. Even after they jettisoned the reeking fruit, space was at a premium and someone had to sleep on the bridge, so Ru and Judy graciously and hurriedly volunteered. They took the floor and left Sarek in the pilot's seat in case anything went amiss.   
Kirk had to lie down; his body had made it clear that was not in the least negotiable, plus the floor was beneath the worst of the durian fumes, so he and his blankets occupied the hallway past the crates of communication equipment Spock and his father had been fussing over. Spock hadn't planned to lie down at all. Kirk knew him well enough to let him stand for a while before he finally slid carefully down the stacks of crates. “If I lie down, you may have to crane-lift me off the floor. However, I will not be smelling durian soup all night.”  
“We'll manage. They didn't plan on keeping the cargo area very warm, did they?”  
“No, indeed. That will be another problem.”   
“Nah.” He threw the blanket over Spock. “Not a request for sex. I'm sharing body heat.”  
“Fortunate, because sexual activity is impossible and body heat is...very much appreciated.” It must have been, because he stopped shivering.  
“Did Sarek speak to you?”   
“Yes. I concurred with Ruven.” He waited for further explanation, but none was forthcoming. Spock's descent into outwardly untroubled sleep seemed to be the best answer he could hope for.


	12. Coming Home To A Place...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...coming home to a place he'd never been before..." --John Denver

...coming home to a place he'd never been before...(John Denver)

 

The last day was uneventful as far as their ship was concerned. Sarek handed over command and procured a cup from the synthesizer. It might have been tea, if one had a vivid imagination, or might have been coffee, though that would have required extensive suspension of disbelief. He checked the open news feed, a catalog of disturbances, rumors and stirrings on the Klingon side of the triple-point border, a couple of small Romulan incursions in the Neutral Zone, and several small spats between whatever renegade Klingons were bent on offending the Romulan neighbors. “New Vulcan is in the best place it could be, considering,” Ru said. “Still...it was one of the worlds we had colonized and fought ourselves off of before. It was a blank slate as far as life, because we did a thorough job with the radiation back when, but the research colony introduced a lot of species a few decades back. I wonder who else has been looking at it.”

Kirk shrugged. “Hot, thin atmosphere? Not something the Klingons would want.”

“Odd the unrest would be happening with colonists coming in,” Judy said. Her unease rippled across the room. “Sorry. I had my shields down looking for trouble.”

“Better than me,” Ru said. “I had no idea how to put shields _up_ when I was a kid.” Sarek flashed back to winter at the research encampment, to nights watching Ru, thinner than a razor then, edges twice as sharp, stare out into the snowy dark for hours at a time. Sometimes he would throw on all of his gear and be gone until the clock said morning, though the short days seldom did. Judy had explained that he would walk the night rather than keep everyone else awake with his mindstorms. His work. Sarek realized he hadn't asked what it had been lately.

When Judy went back to investigate anything that might be left in the more or less functional synthesizer, he followed her and made sure the door to the bridge was firmly closed. “What was he actually doing before I met the two of you?”

Judy retrieved what looked like a parsnip with soy sauce. “I don't think your aide's repairs stuck, but this may be edible even if it isn't the macaroni and cheese I had in mind.--On this ship, we're secure enough. He took one of our small ships, not that anyone noticed it cloaked, and searched the dust cloud. He found what he went after, along with a few other small intact objects, not all things anyone would want to see. But there were a few retrievables from Vulcan, and he retrieved them. Not useful to the Service, only to those who have lost. Perhaps a few percent will have anything, and that few percent may have...a few percent. He came back with that alone except for my checking in on him, so that's why he looks so whacked.”

Alone, with thousands of fragments screaming for two days. “That would do it, yes.”

“The other... _cargo_ is now properly shielded and we'll deal with it on New Vulcan. This is vile,” Judy observed. “Would you like some?--I heard an urgent secure come across. That doesn't make me happy. It certainly didn't make Ru happy. Lia will know what's really going on.”

They moved to the bridge. New Vulcan had begun to fill the screen on normal power. T'Khart had been a great orange ball, its long-neglected planetary shields an iridescent whisper over a few sensitive areas. New Vulcan was a gold pearl of solid shimmering protection. The window map showed the main landing area and shirt-pocket settlement of New ShiKahr. The airport sat a hundred yards or so from a massive tumble of red rocks. As they watched, a small port in the pearl shield opened to let a passenger vessel out. In a few moments, it passed them running back empty, but the slight distortion behind it didn't resolve. “Look just beyond the curve of the planet. That distortion,” Spock said.

“I see it,” Ru said shortly. “Lia just sent a heads-up squib. It's decoding.”

There were several levels of code for the computer to deal with before the message sounded: a rogue Romulan warbird in pursuit of Klingons, Federation evacuating the quadrant--“Not an accident. Let's get through that shield and out of the way. QonoS said they had no interest in this area--”

Sarek looked up at the viewscreen. The odd stars wobbled again, and this time they told a story he would rather not have read. “No one told _them_ that.”

Ru lunged at the controls. “ _Guy'cha fvadt shit!_ ”

It wasn't a bad estimate of the situation, Sarek decided as the ship flipped upside down.


	13. They Looked For Us, They Found Us, What's the Problem?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (WARNING: Ludicrous violence ahead.) The Klingons were looking for New Vulcan. They found it. They just forgot to call ahead.

“It was not possible to land that vessel,” a Vulcan said to no one in particular as Kirk crawled past him. The man was whiter than his robe and still clutching the panel he had no doubt been about to install in the prefab building they had barely missed, but his tone was that of someone watching an interesting soccer play or good golf shot. “It was not possible. And yet, it did happen.”

“It did a double rotation on the way down,” another agreed, dusting pieces of the Klingon ship from his hair. “It would have done a third had the Klingon vessel not been in the way.”

Ru shook himself as he crawled out of the bridge door with Spock on his heels and two dazed Klingons lurching along trying to explain to them. One of the Vulcans who had not nearly been run over by two falling ships hefted a piece of rock and threw it, taking down a Klingon who had begun to lag behind in the desert air. The single rock became a rain of pieces. Someone shouted that the Klingons had not retrieved most of their weapons from the part of their ship entangled with the roof of the Vulcan cargo vessel. When the weapons began to rain down, Kirk grabbed one of the rifles, threw one to Spock, and hit the dirt behind a rock all in the same motion.

Save for their own crew, most of the Vulcans who picked up a weapon had no idea how to use it. That didn't stop them from either trying to master the process with a single-minded intensity that defied description or swinging the disruptors by the barrel as clubs, which tended to make them go off unpredictably. Emotions whirled in the air along with beams, ship parts and physical projectiles, and Kirk wasn't sure which to duck first. It wasn't a good idea for the Klingons to hang around their own wreckage, infested as it was with people who had nothing left to live for or lose. Even if honor demanded it, honor did not provide much of a shield when Sarek strode through the middle of them, decking several with what certainly looked like a leg.

“ _Advance to the rear!_ ” the Klingon captain bellowed, uttering the first sensible words Kirk had heard in the previous five minutes. “Take those rocks! Charge!” The Klingons turned and roared off to the broken boulders in the near distance.

A photon blast from above barely missed the commander's party and left a smoldering crater between him and the ships, which temporarily ended the fighting because by the time the dust settled the Klingons were out of even an angry Vulcan's rock-throwing range. Kirk spared a moment to look up. A old Romulan warbird had tried to follow the Klingons through the shields' port and had been caught by the neck. Unfortunately, the business end of it was weakly and randomly functional, which made things even more interesting. The planetary shield flashed and so did the warbird's long neck, which cracked apart and dropped the bridge pod nose first into the desert a couple of kilometers away. “That's going to make a mess,” one of the older people said mildly.

A dazed Klingon who had been left behind tried to obey his commander by bolting through the Vulcans' area. It might have been a fatal decision if a large bronze man hadn't stepped between Kirk and his mad rush. The man picked up the Klingon by his face, one massive hand on either side. “Ain't you just the cutest little thing!” He kissed the Klingon firmly on the mouth, then gave him a caber toss over the crater. The man landed on his feet and might have been the first to assault the small rock formation, bypassing the rest of the Klingons who were almost as heroic in their efforts.

“Thank you,” Kirk said to the man, who nodded gravely and stuck out a hand.

“Hello, I'm Davy Wanders.” His voice rumbled like a distant landslide in that barrel chest. Kirk realized, belatedly, that the long black hair over his shoulders masked ears that had points. “You must be Captain Kirk. Damn, I been some interesting places, but I never thought New Vulcan would be more fun than Nashville on a Saturday night.”

“It hadn't occurred to me, either. My...goodness...gracious.” He reached for swear words to describe the situation, but they all seemed to have been used up in the battle. “I've always been a fan.”

“Why, thank you. I heard about you, too. Music's the only thing I ever been any good at. That, and bar fighting, but that tends to get me in trouble.”

“And us out of it,” Ru panted, rubbing his chest. “Thank you, Davy.”

Davy scooped him up by his elbows and inspected him. “Lia was worried about you, but now if I get a chance I'll let her know you done damn good by yourself. When I heard the colony was setting up, I wanted to help out if they'll let me stay.”

The Klingon commander walked toward them alone, hands in the air. He stopped at the edge of the crater, poked at his transponder and had it shout: “I am Commander Kharr of the...of what's left of the vessel _Honor Kill_. Who commands this den of insanity?”

Kirk wasn't sure of the Vulcan chain of command, but they seemed to be. Even though Judy had her hands full stuffing someone's inner parts back where they belonged, another Vulcan helpfully held a hailer for her. “I'll send a diplomat. You're not worth more!”

Sarek forestalled Spock's generous, but ineffective, offer to go out. “I have this, my son.--I'm on my way, you rat-eating farming pack of cowards.” He limped off majestically in Kharr's direction.

Davy shrugged at Kirk. “Should he be shooting his mouth off like that?”

“If he didn't, the Klingons wouldn't respect his diplomacy. To show proper etiquette he ought to punch Kharr, except after that crash I'm not sure either of them could stand up if they tried.”

“Besides,” Ru added, “Kharr is one of ours. This had to be an accident.”

The Klingon commander was mightily put upon, as anyone could have heard while he and Sarek hobbled back toward the wreck. “ --on our way to warn you, they took offense, and--”

“Captain, what did you expect when you crashed into a defenseless vessel? We believed you to be _hu'tegh p'taq_ attacking without honor.”

“Without honor? Without _honor_?” Kharr spluttered. Sarek made a little twitching motion with his fingers, palms up, that Kirk couldn't recall seeing outside barrooms and sporting events: _bring it on_. Kharr's face wilted in chagrin. “ _Ba'qa._ That's all I got.”

“You can't curse better than that and call yourself a Klingon?”

“You ripped my XO's wooden leg off with your bare hands and call yourself a Vulcan?”

“The cause was sufficient and the straps were weak,” Sarek said with all diplomatic pleasantry. “I'll give it back.” He chucked the peg leg at the rocks.

Judy handed over her patient to the other doctor working beside her, then cocked an eyebrow at Kharr. “What's your excuse for coming here and nearly getting yourselves blown up?”

“We were trying to warn you ungrateful slime!” Kharr stabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the decapitated warbird's bridge. “ _That_ equally ungrateful slime chased after us and wouldn't listen to our explanations. Believe it or not, she's on _your_ side. We have more than a slight problem, and I do mean 'we.' It appears renegades both Klingon and Romulan wish to rid the Federation of you remaining Vulcans while they can. I doubt this is news to any of you...the Federation's governor in this area...”

“Is a _taHqeq p'tah_ ,” Sarek finished, “ _yIntagh._ This was not his idea, was it?”

“Not if it was original,” Kharr agreed. “There are more like him?”

“There is a nearly infinite supply of him at high levels of the Federation.”

Davy Wanders, who had been standing by quietly, sighed. “It's likely the Vulcan money. It's nearly always the money, even when all sides involved swear it isn't.”

That brought even Sarek up short. “Of course. If there are no Vulcans, but the universal credits still exist...there may be some explaining to do at the Federation treasury.”

“There may be some fighting to do in the meantime.” Ru sat down on a shipping container and motioned to Kharr. “Park it, _p'taQ_ , I was rude not to suggest it earlier.”

Kharr side-eyed Judy. “Sit down in _her_ presence? She threw a spleen at me.”

“No one was using it any more,” Judy shrugged. She looked around. The immediate rush of patients seemed to have slowed as two other healers in the crowd belatedly recalled their own abilities and scooped up the wounded around her. “I thought I was the only one who remembered how to do anything medical.--Kharr, you command this hopeless rabble now?”

“Yes. But _he_ never threw a spleen at me,” he muttered as he slouched beside Ru.

“No, but I would gladly have eaten your liver.”

The compliment nearly moved Kharr to tears. “Thank you. Now as for our verification...”

After a quick inspection of the Klingons' credentials, which verified in some way Kirk could not quite fathom, the impromptu command conference began. They shared what they all knew, given the constraints of security clearances (the Klingons might have tried to lie, but given the number of people around with shields in tatters and every reason to resume dismemberment, Kharr ordered them not to.) It was not a pleasant picture, even when Judy summoned the resources of her notepad to count the skills available. “Captain, your men will need to use exceeding caution to prevent a further outbreak of hostilities. Control for many has broken. We have few among us with enough military experience to keep order, and of those who do, two are currently incapacitated from our landing.”

“Landing? That's what you call it, Ru?” Kharr snorted.

“I made three. You and your men can vote for your favorite.”

“Doctor, I am not--” Spock tried to stand up and discovered his legs were nonfunctional. Kirk caught him and toppled him gently onto a crate of tables. “It appears I was mistaken.”

“Could have told you,” Ru sighed. “You really messed up your back this time.” Spock grumbled a vague and grudging agreement. “Sarek, did you notice your ankle yet?”

“It did occur to me, yes.--That's not necessary, Judy, someone may need it more.” Judy had handed him a pain patch.

Ru leaned his head back on the wall of the ship. “No, take it. Between his back and your leg and ribs, the two of you are killing me, not to mention her.”

“Shields are up for you, Ru, such as they are.” Judy checked her notes again. “I regret this, Captain, but it would be illogical under the circumstances to engage in further combat even with such worthy opponents. Vulcans are scarce, Klingons disposable.”

“We'll be on watch tonight,” Kharr snorted. “You may hide behind us, you--”

Ru opened one eye, curled his lip and loosed a torrent of cursing. Kirk had to think about it for a beat before the combination of absurdity, vehemence and zinger hit home. Kharr's survivors, who had gathered near him, ran a slightly slower mental parsing of the tirade. One of them began slow applause. “Magnificent!” Kharr said. “You always did curse so very well for a useless piece of _ferplekt_.”

One of the Klingons scratched his brow ridge. “Did you really tell him that if he didn't shut up you were going to rip his face off and stuff it so far up his backside--”

“That he could kiss himself goodbye and good riddance,” Ru nodded. “Wasn't it correct?”

“The accent was a little odd, but as for the sentiment, _jai_ ,” the Klingon agreed. Kharr gave him a dirty look. “Oh, come on, you yourself admitted it was good.”

“And he did say he'd eat my liver.--You two go scan and inspect the warbird wreck. Any immediate danger will be there, because this planetary shield is locked up tight.”

“Safe,” Spock agreed, checking his notepad. “Isolated, but safe for the indefinite future.”

“There is the issue of what to do with our dead,” Kharr ventured.

“You don't have any. We patched them up,” Judy said. At his startled look, she went on. “Most of my people don't eat meat. It was just bleeding and a couple of concussions. Most of the serious injuries are on our side. Speaking of. Davy. Take three people and get this contaminated sand moved over that way. Bury it at least a meter deep.” She summoned a few more of the crowd to carry off the wounded and unload the crashed ships. No new cargo would be coming down until the situation above resolved, so even the food synthesizer was of potential value, or so they thought, until some curious soul tried to check its operation by ordering toast. “I'm not even sure what that is.”

One of the Klingons paused on his way by with a carton. “It smells like gagh, it looks properly raw and bloody and it's twitching nicely, but I've never seen it purple before.”

Davy bent to scrub his arms and hands in clean sand. “Even the synth is a contrary.”

Sarek appeared to be deep in thought, hand to his chin. “Are any of the other synthesizers up?”

“All of them. None working correctly.”

“When communication with Earth becomes possible, I will require the opportunity.”

The explanation seemed to be obvious to Spock and everyone else but Kirk. “May I ask?”

Sarek turned to him. “The synthesizers were reprogrammed and loaded by those who remained at the Embassy. It appears we have a significant problem there as well.”


	14. Ignorance Is Only Bliss Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulcans don't talk about That. Or much else.

Ignorance Is Only Bliss Sometimes

 

With typical Vulcan we-are-not-military efficiency, the shipping containers were origami. Once emptied, they unfolded into rooms with actual, if hard and mattress-free, bunks. Kirk's chance to sleep in a bed after two nights in the hallway should have been welcome; however, there proved to be exactly one position in which Spock could fall asleep briefly on the top bunk, and when he did he twitched and moaned in his dreams. So did Sarek, who also coughed without fully waking. The more immediate problem was that for all the desert day heat, once the sun went down warmth faded and by full dark the cold seeped into every crack. They turned up the heating system to no avail and made a couple of attempted repairs, but the problem lay at the central station outside the barracks area. Spock was freezing, which made him shiver, which made his back go into spasms, which shook Kirk's bunk below him, which woke him up. “You could have the other bed,” Spock said through his chattering teeth.

“Nooo, thanks, I already tried that. Some couple is right up against that wall, and they were... uh...earlier. I can't get settled anyhow. It's like the night after final exams when you've been so tense for so long that even when the immediate threat is gone--” Certain forms of stress relief were unavailable to them, but not, apparently, to the couple on the other side of the wall. An earlier encounter had been restrained and barely audible. This was neither.

“Such activity would kill me even if Nyota were here,” Spock said with utter sincerity, reaching for his notepad and glancing at Sarek, whose fists clenched in his dreams. “It's best that he is asleep.”

“I could beat on the wall to shut them up, or...”

“Or join in, Jim?” The noises from the other side of the wall grew in volume and sincerity.

Kirk gulped. “Some humans enjoy, uh...well, anyway. What were you working on?”

“As I told you before...balance.” He showed Kirk the proposed city map. “This street had an inconvenient offset because of an incident a thousand years ago. It makes no sense to leave it there, yet someone will want it simply because it is what was. I have no idea how to bring up the subject, because we don't discuss--” The voices and accents next door were from an unfamiliar Vulcan province, but Kirk was reasonably sure the dialogue was worthy of a porn flick. From Spock's martyred green expression, his mental translation was accurate. “Or that either,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Do you suppose the stress brought on you-know-what?”

“Which we do not discuss. Even between bondmates. Those are more than two.”

Sarek woke with a violent start, then made a quick sweep of the room with his wide eyes. “I dreamed a dying sehlat broke in here.”

“Next door,” Kirk sighed. “I know what we called that back home, and yes, even among humans it's considered to be a breach of etiquette to be that loud about--”

The entire wall had begun to vibrate beside Sarek's bunk. He cocked an arm back and shoved his elbow through the wall. “Kroykah the gorilla sex!”

“Monkey,” Kirk squeaked under his breath. “Monkey sex, and what ARE they doing?”

He leaned across to look through the hole to confirm a momentary impression, but Sarek put a hand over his eyes. “Not in your condition, captain. In fact, not in anyone's condition.”

Kirk pried his hand off and looked. The jumble of entangled everything still didn't make any sense unless... “I didn't know that was possible.”

Spock couldn't move to look. “You have mated with everything in the galaxy that was capable of consent and had a hole in it. Are you telling me--”

“No wonder they were yelling. Are yelling. Did they even notice us?” Kirk stuffed a fold of blanket into the hole. Sarek rolled off the bed toward the door, holding onto the wall to spare his injured leg. Kirk grabbed their blankets and propped Spock up until they could get outside.

From the look of things, they were not alone either in their embarrassment or their inability to sleep. Several dozen people had come out, not only from their container; a lot were alone, sitting in that quiet despair Kirk recognized all too well. After a few minutes, Davy Wanders came out of his pod, looked around and said “Nobody else is able to sleep tonight either, hm?”

He sat on one of the decorative rocks in the middle of what would be a street and tuned his lyre, then struck up a few soft repeating chords with picked notes dancing on them. Not addressing anyone in particular, he let his fingers roam the strings while he spoke: “No reason any of you would know this, but my momma's people were just about extinct once too. Momma's people are warriors. Everybody knows you got trouble, you call on the Cheyenne, it'll get taken care of. Close on four hundred years ago now, things happened that shouldn't have, put it that way, and they got run off and had to set up shop so far from home that most never made it back.”

“Oh,” said one of the crowd. “They were...angry?”

Davy nodded gravely. “Angry, bitter, lot of people died trying to get revenge. Lot more died because they couldn't and they started drinking and doing the other things people do to forget. It took the first two hundred years to realize the best honor for the ones gone was to live a big good life.” He let himself have a small smile. “And I do. See if I can't drown out some of the zoo noises.”

He began to play and sing an old song, his voice as soft as an old flannel shirt. It was the reason most of Starfleet knew his music; not only did he make regular trips to the far-flung outposts, but he also had a way of showing up after a tragedy and making everything seem all right when it obviously wasn't. By the time he finished, some of the huddled ones looked a little less about to die. “No offense, but I couldn't find that much Vulcan that sounded like it could work. Most Terrans sing about sex a lot, and that wouldn't be what you'd need right now--” An especially heartfelt shriek rent the night. “Hm, well, maybe some would. Anyhow, this might help.”

Davy started to sing again, slow and heavy, and he explained each song; this one was written by a man who had lost his wife, that one by somebody who seldom knew a happy day, this one-- “it don't seem likely right now, but the 'get along fine for months at a time' part will happen by and by.” He sang about a man who stopped loving his wife the day he died-- “I know a lot of you feel that way right now, it doesn't show and you don't have to say it”--and another one who was only living because he needed to take care of his child. He stopped after that one, looked around at the long past midnight crowd and their puddle of misery so palpable that Kirk mopped up a few covert tears on their behalf, and nodded slowly. “You're not the only ones, remember that. I got a real close friend, his people had the same thing happen over and over again for a few thousand years. They'd no sooner get settled than get run off again, scattered all over the place, find a new spot, get thrown out of that one, and they never stopped thinking about home. I need some other people that know the words to this.” He tossed his padd to Sarek. “You do, don't you?”

Sarek glanced at the words. “She had that book...” his voice choked off. “There is some excellent poetry in it.” He passed it along to Spock, who read it and closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

Davy tuned again and moved closer to them. It wasn't the way a Terran accidentally got into a Vulcan's personal space; he belonged at Sarek's side and could sit there shoulder to shoulder without either being bothered. “This key about right?”

“By the waters of Babylon, where we sat down, yea, and we wept, when we remembered Zion...” It was a round, very old, the music and the words mellowed with age as their deep voices melded in tight harmony. “For the wicked carried us away captive, requiring of us a song; how can we sing King Alpha's song in a strange land?”

It wasn't a hard song to memorize, and before long the chorus began to grow. When the song wound down, a young woman approached Davy hesitantly. “Could you play 'The Thousand Steps'?”

“Is it allowed? Can we sing that here?” someone wondered.

“Where else will we sing it?” someone else muttered.

“If we don't sing it, how will our grandchildren know?” asked a third voice, and started the song as Davy played. _I will climb the thousand steps of Mount Seleya_...Children too young for school had learned the oldest hymn for thousands of years. Now they sang that misty, thin, uncertain melody about places that no longer were. _...and my soul wait for you in memory's halls_. Where now, if the halls themselves were gone?

“Too much of that ain't good for us,” Davy said. “It's quieted down a bunch. We can do this tomorrow night when we've all worked as much as we can. No sense in doing too much when we'll run into a stopping place for materials anyway.”

“You're right,” Judy said. She had disappeared during the singing; her expression was barely masking disgust, and Kirk had a feeling it didn't have to do with the music. “We'll be taking a break for one hour at peak heat every day for rest, refreshment and learning. Tomorrow and the next day, I will be taking the first speaker's position. Attendance is mandatory.”

As the group began to filter back to bed, the three battered men nearly ran into Judy. Kirk took the chance to ask “Where's Ru?”

“He went on one of his walks.” Judy was rubbing her hands on a cleaning towel.

“Is he all right?” That got Kirk a quirk of Judy's mouth and a faint shrug. Spock lifted his head and appeared to listen to something beyond the settlement, then nodded slightly.

“Thank you. Being around all this...” the gesture was easy to read: hearts full, fuses overloaded. “His nerves are a little frayed right now.”

The heart of the night was quiet; the new world's shields were strong, whatever was going on beyond them seemed to be at a distance, and there were brief intervals of being able to pick up less than apocalyptic text news blips from the galactic net. The Klingons, good to their word, clanked by on actual foot patrol rather than relying on their sensors. Someone had fixed the temporary barracks' heating system so the chill stayed outside. Kirk pulled another armful of blankets from the storage bin, threw half of them over Spock and curled up for the best sleep he could manage.

 

“This is rough, hoss,” Davy said as he and Sarek walked out into the new desert.

“I believe that's accurate. Have you heard from her?”

“Just before I came out. She said tell you there's a flock of sparrows to help but the eagles are waiting. Five years early may have all kinds of unfortunate effects, but considering...she couldn't leave anybody in harm's way now.”

“No. This is a one-way operation. More time might have made it easy.”

“Five years were never guaranteed. The way things are, anything could happen from crazy _Daise'Khre'Riov_ T'Areinnye making Praetor to some other faction taking over and civil war breaking out.”

“All statistics and probabilities. Meanwhile, the probability that Vulcan would be destroyed by a psychotic Romulan miner from the future, leaving the Federation in tatters, was incalculably small.”

“I know.” Davy stripped off his heavy coat and dropped it over Sarek's shoulders. It was a very Vulcan gesture, obviously logical—who could let a friend suffer in the cold even when the other was maintaining exemplary control and not asking for warmth?--and just as obviously meant for illogical, emotional comfort. “So what's up with that? You're shaking like a leaf, but your fever's down.”

“I do not know. Spock commented on it earlier today as well. He developed the same tremors while he was staying at the Embassy. They seemed to be better once we were on the ship. Not gone, but better as time passed. The same happened to Silek. I heard from him this morning and he said he's much better. Even the elders have been less unhealthy to be around, and Mother is no longer proposing a new coup from the Sahara. It must have been related to the debris.”

“The dust does a lot of odd things to people. I'm wondering what's in it. Strange days indeed.”

“Did the grandfathers tell you about their hypotheses?”

“Analyses on possible timeline breakpoints? Yes. Not my thing, but glad it's theirs when they're not doing the other kind of rescues. I just shrink heads and play music.”

“Davy, you will be truthful. Have I gone mad?”

Davy stopped dead and stared at him, then snorted. “No, you're reacting in a perfectly normal way, but the situation sure has gone nuts. We're lucky we didn't kill the Klingons. They just about pulled off Custer's Last Stand. Like the elders say, why do those people complain? Custer went looking for Indians, and he found us.”

“The similarities between the Cheyenne and the ShiKahri...”

“Even the ones that make it not so hard at all for a Cheyenne geneticist to do a little tinkering on an old sample from a crashed alien?” Davy folded his arms. “I guess technically I'm an augment, but I'm no more psychotic than the rest of my Vulcan side.”

“After all, T'Shaara said 'There's madness, and there's S'chnT'gai madness' and you qualify.”

“Like Daddy climbing through all that wreckage looking for anybody still trapped. I don't know how many live finds they had at the Academy, but between him and Nick's team they did good. Hm. They've barely spent time in the embassy building, right?”

“Yes. I've thought about that a lot. They came in to clean up and change clothing, then went out again. The rescue parties have been eating in facilities on site. The embassy was out of almost all fresh food after a few days, so that is unlikely to have been the problem, but the synthesizers were and are misbehaving.”

“Oh, tell me about it. You do _not_ want a roast beef and bacon jelly donut.”

“I'm surprised it wasn't to your taste. Contraries, after all.” Sarek shivered again. “I dislike being fragile. The elders...their emotions. Most are Kohlinari, yet they could not stop bickering like a room full of human children. You know I can't...”

“You and Ru would be awash in all of that, yes. Got any ideas?”

“I should know what it is. Someone near us spoke of a condition like this. I can't recall who.”

“We'll figure it out. We got Silek on the mend now, your grands are working on the broken timeline and Spock and his captain are getting better. Pretty soon we'll have Lia back bossing us around and we can really get down to business fixing things.” Davy unslung the harp from his shoulder and held it out, but Sarek couldn't make himself take it.

“I can't, Davy. I think the part of me that made music died when she did.”

“No, it'll be back. I just have to figure out how to get it out of you again. Come on, you're going to get way too cold out here.”


	15. It's Called...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dr. Judy gets tired of dissembling and gives orders.

It's Called...

 

Kirk spent the morning helping a Vulcan engineer set up the rudiments of the planetary government communications network. It was light work he could do sitting down in the warm shade, and it seemed to help his mind clear. Eventually there would be extra features and better personal devices, but for now the essentials would be covered within a hundred kilometers of the city. The name was the subject of polite debate; was it New ShiKahr, just ShiKahr, or something else? Two thousand people seemed to have two thousand opinions, augmented by the half-dozen able-bodied Klingons, whose suggestions included Peglegville, Spleen Avenue and Eat Your Liver Street.

As soon as his communicator worked, Kirk had messages from Spock about his own current projects. He and his father had taken on the reconstruction of an unattractive monument most people insisted be replicated. It seemed inappropriate, celebrating a great general's incredibly vicious victory, but it had been part of the capital for so long that most prospective residents thought being without it was unthinkable. “The statue of T'Shaara must be replicated, even though Father refers to it as 'uglier than homemade sin',” he wrote. “Is that especially unfortunate?”

“Ask him if the general looks like Aunt Pat,” he messaged back.

“I believe she does bear a strong resemblance, now that you make it clear.”

In a second, he had a message from Sarek. “Have care with your words, Kirk. That remark of yours damaged my ribs. As for his back, the cause was sufficient for 'ow.' The Klingons are assisting and have been most kind to us.”

“Waaait a minute. They were--”

“They shared their chocolate. We are not having any problems.”

“I bet you're not,” he muttered to himself. Shortly, the all-hands message reminded everyone to gather at the central plaza beside the Great Hall.

Judy walked by from the hospital, eyes down on her padd until she laid it in a holder aimed across the wide street. “Try not to laugh at me, Jim, because you're going to know all of this. Trust me, a lot of people need to hear it.”

“I won't laugh, Doc. What's up?”

“You might not want to put it exactly that way.” She looked so grim and determined as she climbed the ladder that Kirk fully expected her to announce some military disaster.

“Well, there's _two_ things I've never seen before in one day.” Davy tried for Vulcan nonchalance as he stood in the doorway with Sarek, facing the big white side of the new hall. It made a fine backdrop for projection, except that what was on it was a cross-section of--

The sound system came to life. “It's called _sex_ , people,” Judy said flatly. “It is a bodily function that must be discussed. Ignorance is illogical when knowledge is available. I am a gynecologist and I look at these parts all day, every day in the course of my job. People should not be injuring themselves because they had no idea how these were supposed to work.”

“One that size would injure anybody,” Kirk gulped. One of the Klingons stopped by, staring.

“huTegh! That's the biggest—They're not actually...?”

“No,” Kirk said. “I've seen Vulcans in the gym. Impressive, but not _that_ impressive. I don't know if it's possible for people to die of embarrassment, but at the rate she's going, we may find out.”

Judy gave a basic and frank explanation of how Tab A fit into Slot B, when it shouldn't, what would make the experience better when it should and when Slot C or D might be of more interest, which made Davy smile wistfully. “There is no shame in having any kind of sex with your bondmate as long as you both agree and know what you're doing. It increases bond strength and stability, relieves stress and decreases both the danger and intensity of _pon farr_. From now on, it will _not_ be considered sufficient for parents to tell their children to 'look that up if you want to know.' This is the first of many topics we have left undiscussed in the last two hundred years that verge on the unforgivable and are far beyond the line of illogic. Now, as for the female anatomy, the proper names for these parts are...”

“Now _I_ may die of embarrassment,” the Klingon muttered. “That's the same way our, ah, stuff works. These people turn the most interesting shade of green.”

They had, all two thousand of them, and would have averted their eyes from the pictures had that not meant having to look at the person next to them. Judy's stern, thorough, efficient lecture didn't take twenty minutes, but from their reactions, it might as well have been bamboo shoots growing under fingernails for several lifetimes. Kirk wasn't sure whether he was embarrassed on their behalf or because a few of them were sneaking sideways glances and loudly thinking of what sex with a human would be like. The doctor looked around. “I know a lot of you are grieving spouses and don't even want to imagine this. However, all of us need to think about reproducing even if it wasn't on our agenda before, and while a good genetic match will be critical, so will a good life fit. For some, the search is going to have to take place sooner than it will for others. Some may want to host an embryo in honor of the lost. I have lists and suggestions of who might be best suited to carry which children. As for bonding, for the sake of harmony and good manners, logic dictates no brokered bond should take place without good acquaintance and frank discussion. The spontaneous ones, we should all be so lucky, go for it. Anyone wishing for a list of genetic matches, contact my office, and the rest will be up to you.”

She climbed down from the roof and strolled off, leaving her massive illustrations up. The lunch crowd scuttled off, most staying within a furtive glance of the hall so they could look at them. One young couple walked up, frankly inspecting the pictures. The young woman flagged Judy down and asked a question, which she must have answered judging by the way she pointed and gestured. The young man nodded and made the thanks gesture, and the couple went off down the street deep in discussion as Judy walked over. “Well, there are the first two who know,” she said.

“What...I mean...Doctor...that lecture is something Bones would...” Kirk faltered.

“I messaged with him this morning. He asked how you were, and we have to get through this siege because--” she sent a message with a triumphant little smirk-- “he owes me a fifth of bourbon. There's no time for standing on ceremony, even if we had ceremony left to stand on. We can't have people dithering over when to carry a child. Some shouldn't even wait for this crisis to resolve. Some won't be _able_ to wait. Patient confidentiality being what it is, I can' t tell you who did what to prompt that, but I don't wish to treat any more ruptured eardrums.”

“Wait. Eardrums?” Kirk squeaked. “Please tell me it was from the noise.”

Judy shook her head. Even the Klingons winced. “I sent the unfolding crew to the foot of the mountains to erect...hmm...to put up a hotel for those who require extended privacy. Tomorrow, I get to discuss pon farr. No one even mentions it at home until we start to feel odd, and we're farmers and used to the way livestock deal with mating season. Even then, any word we got was a few embarrassed whispers from a priestess who might not have even thought about sex herself. Well, I'm a doctor and a priestess and I've treated people who were injured or killed because they didn't know what to do with emotions that are not negotiable at that time. After that, I'm going to tackle cultural knowledge for children. Nobody's brought little ones in yet, but they'll be here soon, and when they are, they're going to get a _real_ classical Vulcan upbringing, not this pretending we don't have bodies, let alone souls.”

Ru swung around the corner of the building. “Good talk, _aduna_. I like you when you get that mad.” He glimpsed the wall and tried to look back with nonchalance, but the emerald crept up his cheekbones onto his ear tips. “I _see_.”

“Educating the masses, dear, such as they are.” She sighed. “Not very massive. Watching the colony sit here, not being sure how many more are scattered around, here are a fifth of the ones who were rescued off Vulcan itself, and these are the healthiest and fittest. Isn't the Earth expression about all the eggs being in one basket?”

“There should still be some eggs in other baskets. I found a rock outcrop with some promise. It's not Seleya, but a little imagination should fit a thousand steps in. Nearby, there's a small cave we could use, that could be enlarged if...it becomes necessary...” He sat down quickly, staring off at the mountain behind the red rocks. “Oh, God, what are we going to do if someone dies?”

Judy doubtless said what he already knew. “If? You mean someone else?” More had happened; Kirk, for all of being human, could feel the strength of his fresh misery. “Oh. You took it to her.”

“I had to. I didn't want her to have to come in and pick it up herself...” he steepled his fingers, rested his forehead on them, fighting for control when there was none to be had. “She tried to thank me. How the hell can anybody want thanks for the end of her world?”

“Both, and her man?”

He gulped and nodded. “His chain she gave him when they married, and such a tiny packet... there was no question whatsoever, at least, it was enough for positive identifications. She was off world for a conference. She has one suitcase, a chain, and a packet of ashes the size of my fingernail. Welcome to your new life, T'Marra.”

“Then she has more than some.” Judy moved her hand from the middle of his back up to his neck and flinched, biting her lip and shivering. “She meant it.” She had to lift her hand from his neck and give it a quick shake; Kirk saw the green blotches on her palm. “You did get the best thing.”

“Not all that much of it.”

“Ru, any is better than none. If I can take it there, even myself, and bury it so it's part of the new mountain...” She looked around at her confused audience. “Mount Seleya's sand in the debris drift. The sand there is...was distinctive. You'd know the chemical signature in an instant, and it was confirmed today.” He pulled a small bag from the pocket over his upper heart and laid it in her hand. She pressed it to her own chest with reverence. “All of the centuries.”

He looked up at her to say something else, but his eyes went past her to the big pictures on the wall across the plaza. “And speaking of all the centuries, there's _that_.”

Judy tried not to giggle and lost the fight, even as she held the bag of sand to her heart.


	16. Did She Have To Use The Real Words?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the previous lecture was awkward, this one was humiliating, but someone had to say it.

Noon gathering was much more apprehensive on the second day, since the topic had been announced. No one seemed to have brought lunch and a lot of the crowd, while outwardly calm and controlled, felt ready to bolt. Sarek didn't especially want to be there, but his absence would have been conspicuous and so would Spock's. He found a spot at the edge of the crowd and carefully slid down the side of the building to sit with Davy. Spock tried to find a place elsewhere, but had to resort to a place a couple of feet away beside Kirk, which was closer than any of them wanted to be.

At the appointed time, Judy climbed to the roof. “First of all, an announcement. We're all used to jumping down from high places, but we've been in low gravity and our bones aren't what they should be, especially not you men. If I've had to use bone glue, stay off your feet for twenty-four hours and rest as much as possible for at least a week. Now, about pon farr...”

Even with what was left of his shields, Sarek felt the crowd's collective gulp: _She said that out loud! The real words!_ Mortal embarrassment didn't begin to cover it. Judy made the lecture short, but nothing she did took the edge off the pictures and accompanying explanations.

Some of the Klingon guards were off shift and came over to watch, quickly becoming awestruck. One glanced sidewise at Sarek. “And your people _live_ through that? I mean... _you_...?”

“Nine times so far,” he replied. The man stared openly and said something admiring.

_Then, but not only. Rea wanted to pretend her emotions were dead and buried, so he tried to play along. After she died, he hadn't minded when he missed a whole cycle. If it never happened again, he wouldn't be sorry, and if it did, he planned not to be alive, but then Amanda._

_No one had told him that Earth women often liked sex._

_No one had told him how very, very much some Earth women liked sex._

_Most of all, no one had told him that one particular Earth woman would let him know in no uncertain terms what she wanted. He hadn't been sure how to interpret her statement that it wasn't her first rodeo. Rodeo? When he looked it up, he and Silek were alarmed enough to call their sister and brother-in-law. “Ambassador Sarek? Admiral T'Lia is on the line.”_

_“Put her through.”_

_“Jolan tru, sa'kai'kam. So?”_

_He explained his problem in the most clinical terms possible, and she managed, by what feat of control he could not imagine, not to smirk at them. “She means she isn't a virgin.”_

_“Did you have to use the real words?”_

_“Yes. I get it with Silek, but how in the numerous worlds could you have been married to Rea for seven years and still not get the idea of--I need to do some shopping for that kind of thing anyhow when I stop by Frisco. Let me take care of this one for you.”_

_She had dropped the box off on Silek's desk in person so it wouldn't get opened in routine security inspections. They maneuvered around it like a mongoose circling a snake. On a Terran holiday weekend, when most of the embassy workers had left town, they worked up the courage to open it. Lia had been thorough, if nothing else. They were staring at the assortment in mixed fascination and alarm, muttering “_ _**Flavors** _ _?” when Amanda walked in. Silek bolted from the room and things had immediately become much, much more interesting._

Judy was already winding up her presentation. “So, when you mark your time off, if you're doing anything physical, leave your work schedule flexible for a week after, because you won't be.”

The monkey sex participants tried to disappear into the shadow of a building while everyone else politely averted their eyes and minds, but there was something new, an undercurrent of...Davy happened to be standing between Sarek and the man with the bandaged ear. “Good thing you ain't in my momma's people's town. You'd all have _nicknames_.”

Bandaged Ear looked puzzled. “Can you explain?”

“Gotta understand humor, over that way.” He pointed toward Earth. “Momma's folks never let you forget anything silly you did. You have a name or two on your records, then if you make an ass of yourself or do good, the people give you another one, and it might not be nice but it'll be true, and you don't get mad. If it's bad, you try to get a better one. Best one I can think of: Man Afraid Of His Horse.”

“That makes no sense. Was he a coward?”

“Anything but. Man was--” Davy looked at the Klingons and shrugged. “Hu'tegh jai' suv'wI?” They nodded. “No enemy wanted to see that weird-marked horse of his coming toward them. Name really meant 'Even His Horse Scares Them.' That's a good one. The bad ones...f'r instance, pretty sure you'd end up named Wrong Hole till you fixed it.”

Wrong Hole absorbed the information, face straight, and jerked a thumb at the jade-green man beside him. “He should be Needed A Map.”

“I don't need one to find the hotel,” Needed a Map said with immense dignity. “Coming?”

There was only one possible answer to that, and Kirk muttered it even though three people elbowed him at once, carefully not looking at one another.

The creeping away after the presentation was even more pronounced than it had been the day before. “Tomorrow's topic is advanced first aid,” Davy said. “Everybody can quit turning colors now.”

“It was necessary for her to do that, but the shock waves may reach...” Still too much Trellium-D in his system; the obvious joke about a particular outer planet orbiting Sol had been about to escape.

“Well, if they did I wouldn't mind.”

“Is that part of being a contrary, I wonder?”

“Not for all, but it does happen. I blame it on Momma messing up her calculations, but I had a good talk with Daddy and that explained some things.” Davy looked down at him, poking him with the guitar he was carrying. “I can't get around that and you can't get around _this_ forever.”

“The way my hands are now, I don't know if it would even work.”

“Bull. You know it will. Trust Uncle Davy on that one. Besides, day after tomorrow is beginner music, so I'm going to need help whether you feel like it or not.”

 

The colonists had worked hard all day, with a few exceptions where the hotel was getting its proper use. The day was much cooler than the one before even at noon and was chilly by evening. Several houses had been printed and were drying, many more containers had been unfolded into barracks and public buildings, the communications net was running, news from outside arrived in hourly text-only squibs, and someone managed to readjust most of the synthesizers' programming so they produced recognizable Vulcan food instead of whatever the ketchup-soaked blue turnips had been supposed to represent. Judy had asked the repair crew to leave the synthesizer from Sarek's quarters untouched in case they needed evidence later. “Or,” Davy added cheerfully, “just to keep things stirred up a little. I went for the breakfast bars and got tuna quiche that wasn't bad.”

Kirk tried the carrot loaf menu item and got a fruit cup he found, if a little odd, no worse than standard Earth fare from a vending machine. “It shouldn't matter,” a woman said, surveying her bowl of ordinary-looking soup as she found a place to sit. “Nutrition is nutrition...”

“But you didn't _like_ it,” Davy said as he passed by her. “It's instinct to keep us from getting poisoned, or from eating my cooking.” He sat down on his rock again. “Evening, everybody. When things get this bad for Momma's people, Creator sends a thunder dream to a man and from then on he's a contrary. He has to do things upside down and backwards to make the people happy or make them think, either, both. It's a job nobody in his right mind would want, sorta like being a starship captain.” He grinned at Kirk. “Lectures ain't fun. Let me sing about the trouble people got into.”

There was more than a little discomfort in the crowd when the very old Vulcan song about teaching your children right the first time so you didn't have to do it twice hit nerves. Davy looked around. “I got something like that from Earth. Wanna hear it?...”

Halfway through, Kirk realized why Davy had picked the song. A man had given his son an awful name, then left, and an epic fight followed once the grown son found him. Sarek happened to be flanked by Spock and Ru, all three hiding behind the Great Wall of Vulcan. By the punch line, all three were having difficulty for another reason. “At least _his_ name wasn't 'leftovers',” Ru snickered.

“That was not my choice.” Sarek grimaced. “I called Spock worse than that behind his back. Not that it helps, since on that last day, to his face I said...”

Kirk didn't understand, but it felt like bad words. Ru's eyes widened at whatever he was thinking. “You did _not_ call him—Uff da. Spock, no wonder you left.”

“Mother was not pleased with either of us for the verbal sparring. I think she was nearly as offended by the ineptitude of our combat as I left for the Academy.”

“I was shouting at him,” Sarek admitted. “We both forgot the gate swung rather than closing. Instead of a dramatic slam, it swung and hit me in the face, then it rebounded...”

Spock agreed. “Dramatic bloody noses. On both of us. Without a punch thrown.”

“I never did get all of it off the door. The new one won't be a problem. Tomorrow I can move in, and you all might as well. I didn't mean to rebuild D'H'Riset as the place we...I had, but it seems there was a slight misunderstanding.”

The problem flashed across Kirk's mind: that huge desert estate with so many empty houses and the main one with one lonely man in it, even if he would never admit the loneliness. “It wouldn't be logical to leave so much space,” Spock agreed. “We should go there.” Whatever shortcomings the man had, the art of the graceful bailout wasn't one of them.


	17. Money Is A Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving to a new house should be fun, but it isn't.

Money Is A Hit...

 

“Ten thousand to one. Perhaps, if we are not fortunate, a hundred thousand to one,” Judy said. She held the padd so he could see the reports, not that he doubted them.

“Hope may be unreasonable, but I will still indulge. Ten thousand dead for every one living is unspeakable, unthinkable...and the best we could be facing.”

“There is another concern—Just a minute.” At an aide's call, she went back into the temporary hospital, readjusted something for a patient, returned. “There is the money.”

“Causing problems, as usual.”

“Problems, and solutions. Many entire clans are now represented by a single person. Some wealth was on Vulcan, in land that no longer exists, but that's not the usual.” Most accounts transcended any single system. Even as he watched the display, computers recalculated, reassigned, distributed. “The job won't be done within the next few days, but it will be done. Where the whole clan is gone and no will can be found, the state will have it. As for the rest...it's hard to imagine. The inadvertent effect of Nero's crime is that we are all wealthy to an extent that makes our ability for massive bribery a serious threat.”

“And seriously threatened. Kidnapping may again come into vogue.”

“That has crossed my mind. I never expected to be in this position, but I _am_ in this position, and I'm going to do every last thing I can until T'Lia gets here.” She watched one of the larger transfers flash over. “On Earth, that college student just checked her account to see whether she could afford coffee and has no idea why she is suddenly a billionaire.”

“I meant what I said to him last night. There is an extraordinary amount of unused room at our...my house.”

“Ru told me. Of course we'll move in.”

 _He's supposed to be the only empath in the family._ Sarek watched her juggle the task lists before her. The planetary shield maintainers were reporting no problems, the sun output was steady even if the shields were taking a lot of the radiant energy, three more buildings had been set up and were curing, and there was a new list of former occupations as people registered any profession they had done previously as well as what they had been doing on the day the world ended. “We're well supplied with bankers, lawyers, astrophysicists, musicians, silversmiths and comm techs, but remarkably short on nurses, medics, doctors, farmers and bakers.”

“It depended on who happened to be close enough to the evac sites. I wasn't there, of course, but wasn't there time?”

“For some things. Had the Council evacuated when the drill rig first appeared, there would have been time for nearly all.” He swallowed the crushing knot in his chest. Almost, almost, a scant second sooner and she wouldn't have... “Denial was the primary cause of death.”

“We have to plan much better. It won't be as big an operation, to put it mildly, but I need to put 'be able to gather and evacuate quickly' on the task and knowledge list. One thing for sure: not many of us have a lot of work to do while we're moving in.”

“I have more than most. Living off world meant having baggage.” He gestured to his trunk.

“Us too. Well.” She shoved the padd into her pocket. “Give me the grand tour.”

The walk was surreal. The lighting was wrong, the air wrong—how often was a daylight breeze from the mountains actually cold, rather than refreshing?--the color of the sand was wrong, and yet the streets were in the same places. The Great Hall and the Science Academy once again hid the small building that should have been the pizza shop. There were already houses for everyone who was currently on the planet or would be, and still the crews were moving the printer from one lot to the next. Ten thousand would live here, and if more were able to come, they could...but. “There are no homes elsewhere. It doesn't seem...” Logic had nothing to do with it. This was some kind of desperate, mechanical effort to set up a city that would never be full, to build homes for those who would never come back. Denial again, and at what price?

He felt her agreement. “ShiKahr is the only settlement except for the research station, and some of the Kiri are already moving into the hallways out there and planning to build where they can. In one sense, having one city is logical, in another...it's as much an illusion as everything else people are fighting to hold. I never lived in this town. It was where I went on business. My grandparents' mountain village didn't even have a name. This would have been a strange place to them, even on Vulcan. Would they have gone near ShiKahr if they didn't have to?”

“At one time, they couldn't have. Had they, they couldn't have gone back. You and Ruven are a peace treaty and I do not regret it.” It was unforgivable to ask, absolutely; he shoved the thought aside, but she had already heard with her gentle amusement.

“Yes, we will. I put myself on hormones to boost things along. Nothing was wrong last year during his time, just no luck, not bad genes.”

Of course she would know. “Be careful that yours aren't early.”

“Your mother told me all about that. 'That's why he's so small, you know. My son is very delicate.' I think she's the only humanoid in the galaxy that thinks of you so.”

He could imagine his mother saying exactly that, and thinking of him so. “Being poisoned tends to have adverse effects. However, she could have told me when Ruven was born.”

“Her excuse was that you were off-planet, not long bonded and had just lost your first two. I think really she was afraid to tell Amanda.” She stopped walking when Sarek did. “Ah. Very nice.”

“Welcome to D'H'Riset version two.” It was all too evident that he was single when his own name was on the gatepost. Everything was in the same place, the rust-colored walls, the garden that should have had plants in it. He laid a hand to the door panel, obscenely in the same place and already programmed to let him in. The still-damp room felt ransacked, the shelves empty. He let the trunk coast to a stop and looked around, but nothing was going to make this homecoming feel like home. _Feel? Yes. There is no longer any reason not to feel_.

“Exactly,” Judy said, looking around. “All the same, it's the house.”

“That would be where my study was. The kitchen is that way. There is the...uh...”

“Main human-style bathing room and toilet,” she said, as if the very word wouldn't have caused shock and alarm before. “And the other rooms, as you wish.”

“Take the suite behind the kitchen for you and Ruven. There should be a side room that is either a walk-in closet or your office with a door to the outside.”

“That'll do.” She towed her own trunk after her. He did not intend to go in there, now or ever. The study to the left of the main door, he could face; people would expect him to be there most of the day if he wasn't in the garden. The room...especially the small room...he would never set foot in.

It should have been a perfect nursery, far enough from their bed that the baby of the moment wouldn't wake unduly, close enough to feel that they were well. Except they hadn't been. When the third one came, there was no question of putting him in there even though he had come a week late, round and warm and far too human. Even when the midwife stuffed him strong and flailing into Sarek's unwilling arms, he had felt alien, the wiry, curious mind that would never conform to his own.

He went into what had been the guest room, behind the study, and opened the trunk: summer clothing, what passed for winter clothing, actual winter gear from the research station, the couple of items he had brought on impulse. The last object in the trunk forced half a smile, and he held it for a second before he laid it on the top shelf where it belonged. It had been a gift over sixty years before, and he was irrationally glad he'd snatched it up in his hurry to get on that last flight to Frisco. One thing, at least, could be the same.

 

None of Kirk's firearms students in his voluntary morning class had any Starfleet background, which didn't always mean much. The one at hand had listed “VHC” and an improbably distant past date. “This really will take some serious retraining.”

“That's what everyone is noticing,” said the sweet little Vulcan lady who was, at the moment, cleaning one of the disruptors she had unceremoniously borrowed from the Klingons on their arrival. His translator had a bit of trouble with her accent. “Is so nice for you to help.”

“T'Rouf, I can't help noticing that from what I see, you should be teaching this class.”

“I trained as a sniper for the High Command, but after so long I vanted to refresh my memory.” She gave him the capsule version of a life that left him sitting with his mouth hanging open. “So the var vent away before very much could happen to anyone who didn't deserve it, and ve began to behave much more reasonably...according to some.”

“But that would make you...Forgive me, that's much too personal.”

“Oh, no, I'm not ashamed to be two hundred and ninety-seven. I thought if somebody needs to die to try out the new planet, I'm the logical choice. Let some young woman with good working parts stay back until we know this will work...and until we get Kir rebuilt, even if there are a dozen people in it.” She went on reassembling the weapon, then sighted down the guide. “When I trained, we were still using projectile weapons. These are much more accurate and much quieter. May I?”

“The range is all yours.” He watched her ease her old bones down behind a barricade. The disruptor on low power barely made a sound, but five quick snaps of light popped the distant target. She retrieved the target and stand, showing them to him. “Well. Um.”

“Five on the X.” She cleared the weapon for safety. “Now who is next?”

Next was a regal younger woman who all but snatched the disruptor away. “I know nothing about these, but I won't be outdone by a Kiri.” Neither her tone nor her glare suggested she was joking.

“Punch the paper, not the others,” Kirk said, and hoped the women were listening.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed that most of the students knew so little to begin with, or alarmed that they picked it up so fast. Spock and Ru came along as most of them were finishing. The newcomers watched until a station opened up on the makeshift range, thought at each other and left Spock with the rifle and Ru with the spotting scope. The first click brought a quiet “Low and left, one.”

After that, silence, and when the target came back even T'Rouf looked impressed by a group the size of a thumbnail. “Not bad for two who are not Kiri.”

“Trade?” Spock raised an eyebrow. Ru nodded and took the rifle. When he fired his first shot, Spock said “No change.” After five, the groups were the same size.

The young ShiKahri woman stared at them. “How?”

“When you are about to shoot,” Ru rearranged himself on the ground, “there is nothing else but the target. You've decided how much breath to let out. You hold the same way every time. Everything is decided. There is no sand, no wind, no heat, no cold.”

“But what if what you are shooting...an actual... _live_...target?” someone faltered.

“You wouldn't have pointed a weapon if you weren't going to shoot. Stun or kill, the jury has come back, the judge has sentenced. There is no doubt...” he fired his fifth shot, “or thought.”

Had he missed several times? No, the hole looked like a tiny cloverleaf with a punched center. Forget a thumbnail. The group would have fit on Kirk's little finger.

“Remind me not to get in front of either of you if you're holding weapons,” he said as they all walked back to town.

“That would be good advice in any case, Jim.”

“I'm not getting in front of that nice little old lady over there, either.”

“That would be a _very_ bad idea. I believe she is Kiri and their marksmanship is legendary. Not as legendary as ShiKahri, but well known elsewhere.”

Judy appeared on the roof before he could come up with anything but a mild profanity by way of reply. “I trust you're all well this afternoon. Now we'll have a short history lesson. It might be of interest to our Terran and Klingon guests as well.”

In fifteen minutes, she explained more than Kirk had heard, and much more than most of the Vulcans were willing to admit except for T'Rouf and the young woman who had been peeved at her. “No matter our nation of origin, we are warriors at heart. Put more bluntly, our genes program us to _like_ to kill things. There were no small game animals on Vulcan because we ate them. There were only the largest species of sehlat and le-matya because we ate the smaller ones. D'mallu vines grew because they ate some of us while we were eating them—which reminds me, respect their area, because I regret to say negotiations have broken down and the mature plants are planning a hostile takeover of the limeweed plot the researchers put in last year. We are, to quote Kahless the Unforgettable, the 'rampaging bastards of the galaxy.' We no longer have the luxury of lying to ourselves about it. Many of you don't realize why sports became such an entrenched part of society when they seem illogical. Our dances are simulated combat. Golf means hitting a ball very hard with a stick. Baseball allows us to throw things _and_ hit a ball very hard with a stick. In this way we dispose of aggression and settle disputes with a two-credit Nassau, which is also an excellent way to settle who's the better sniper. T'Rouf, it would be better to _teach_ the young than to offer to pick any of them off when we're this limited in our gene pool.”

“ _Fvadt_ ,” T'Rouf sighed, “but at least the ShiKahri will have to admit I teach her.”

Kirk was startled to see the Klingon captain sitting beside him, looking surprised. “I had heard stories,” Kharr said. “That is...extraordinary.”

“I don't think she's kidding. I know T'Rouf isn't.” He showed the Klingon her target.

“Forget teaching that bunch. I'll have her reeducate mine. Kirk...if it were possible, and I could get my men off this planet, would you like to accompany us? It might be a good idea.”

“Don't give up yet,” he said, no longer feeling sure of himself.

“We obeyed the Emperor and came to notify them, and one Romulan commander mistook our actions for the beginning of the threatened attack. I have had brief contact with our other ships, who assure me she is still standing guard with the rest of her vessel and a few other small ones. My commander fought a glorious battle yesterday and has continued pursuit toward Rigel.”

“Glorious by which definition?”

Kharr conceded the point. “My admiral was alive and able to tell us to stay here, offer aid that improves diplomacy, observe and report. I think he was surprised to hear from us.”

“Was there anyone in the warbird bridge?”

“We found no bodies and retrieved only two hand weapons. I assume they evacuated when they saw the problem. The Vulcans took the torpedoes, phasers and controls. If anyone was there, it would be hard to believe they survived...but with these people I never put it out of the question.”

“I wonder if there's anything we could do with what's left of that?” All right, he was bored; he neither had orders not to go look at the warbird, nor anything else to do that wouldn't exhaust him. The Vulcans' efficiency had resulted in the planned part of the city going into place days before it had been expected, with only the largest projects still underway, and they all seemed eager to burn their chaotic energy by working insanely hard in the surprisingly cool weather. Halfway to the wreck he and Kharr startled at the same time. “Wait. Did you just _think_ \--”

“That neither of us even considered bringing a bodyguard?” Kharr shuddered. “It's rubbing off on us, Kirk. I realize that...” he held his hands up in a gesture Kirk had never seen a Klingon make.

“...you can trust me?”

“...and you _know_ I mean you no harm, either?”

“We're both concerned about the way all of them are acting. We don't know how long the full-planet shields will hold in a real assault, but they're setting up as if it's the least of their worries.”

“Worse yet, they're getting bored.”

There it was, the tiny spark that had been trying to hide at the edge of his mind. “They have a lot to do and--” _And it's all menial labor. Devastatingly hard, doing things by hand that no one has done that way in centuries, but not occupying those weaponized, broken minds_.

Kharr rolled his eyes. “You know better. Is it safe to have Vulcans bored at any time, let alone when they're doubting how the recent developments relate to their brand of logic, which has never seemed to have any relation to logic as the rest of the universe knows it?”

“Come now, Captain, the Klingons aren't exactly effusive about their softer sides either.”

“Where do you think we got the idea?”

He wasn't sure how, but he knew. “I take it you didn't get it from the Romulans?”

“Klingon schoolchildren learn of the Defense of Qo'Nos. The Raptor's Wing were running, the Black Wave on their tails. One of our largest outposts was in the way. The Wave landed, established a post and became bored. After that, matters became _interesting_.”

“That was a long time ago.” Yes, and it didn't matter to Kharr. Kirk wasn't sure it mattered to him or that it mattered to any of the wreckage back in the city. “The Black Wave...that was one of the factions. She made a very brief reference.”

“She would.” Kharr sounded strangled. “Let's see if they left any souvenirs.”

Due caution required them to scan the broken warbird before they thought of going in, even though they agreed no one was there. Up close, the command pod was spartan except for the station seats and a remarkably nice captain's chair. They tried it out even though it was at an awkward angle and agreed that it was more comfortable than their own. “It might make a housewarming present for someone I know.” Kirk found the bolts and loosened them. “Unless you'd rather.”

“You know what my men would say about my going soft if I dragged that into our camp. I'll take the carpeting because we can all sleep on it. Better hurry with that. Looks like it's about to rain.”

 _Rain?_ Kirk thought as he towed the chair on the dolly. Kharr bagged the carpet from the bridge and went off just as happily with it. He stopped at the Great Hall, momentarily confused, and asked for directions to D'H'Riset. “Past the dirty picture building, left at the ugly statue,” one of the young men said. “It's still the last gate at the edge of town.”

He touched the pad at the gate, expecting a query, but it let him in without question. The fountain in the courtyard was dry, waiting. He towed the chair into the house where Sarek was limping around the main room setting matters to rights. “I thought you might need a desk chair,” Kirk said, unsure of the protocol involved in handing the man spoils from a Romulan warship.

“That would be...remarkably useful,” Sarek said.

“Wherever you want it.”

“This is my office.” He pulled the chair into the next room. “My tools are here somewhere.”

“Let me get that for you.” Sarek was trying to pretend he wasn't exhausted, cold, aching and generally miserable. _How do I know that? He isn't letting it show on his face. Yes, he's pale and looks tired, but...but...I_ _ **know**_. The chair wasn't hard to mount; the Romulans had a remarkable sense of practical engineering, not that he felt like mentioning it at the moment. “I was hoping it wouldn't be inappropriate.”

“Quite the opposite. Anything taken from the Romulans is pleasing.” He sat, pressed a couple of adjustments, then lifted his slippered feet onto his desk. Kirk could have sworn he heard a tiny groan of relief. “Davy has gone off to investigate the acoustics in the new great hall. Spock was able to get a message from Nyota and chose to read it in private.” There it was again! _If you know what I mean, and I'm sure you do_.

“Sir...if you don't mind my asking...I know there are things you don't talk about, but...” He repeated the strange encounter at the shooting class. “It happened again today, more or less the same way with other people. Is there something I should be doing differently?”

“Unfortunately, there is nothing you _can_ do. When Judy comes back, she may have an answer for some of my questions, and I may be able to use her for a demonstration of yours.” Head pillowed on the luxurious headrest, Sarek closed his eyes. Kirk sensed the relief crackling through the air. “The water lines are purging for use, the power net is up, and I believe we have taken so much of the sunlight for the shields that it is about to rain.”

“I thought that was odd.”

“This is a four-season planet. Cooler, not as dry. The research station was here to test various terraforming methods and see how quickly an atmosphere could rebalance. It was nearly ready for use. Had we not needed to interfere, this area shouldn't have had more than a brief cool and rainy season. However, with the decrease in solar input...things will be changed.”

“Something about the way you say that makes me nervous.”

“It should. I doubt more than a few of us have winter clothing.” He tipped up the padd he was holding so Kirk could see it. The meteorological office (a nice young man named Sklar) had predicted temperatures that were appalling within a day or two, and even he could recognize the symbol for snow.

Judy came in without looking. “You were right, and--” She looked up from her padd. “Oh.”

“Spoils,” Sarek said, not moving. “Do you approve?”

“Highly. Especially the part where you prop your feet up and rest.” She waved an instrument in his direction. “I don't know which of you is worse off.”

Ru came in with an armload of broken boards and crushed boxes. “We're going to need this for Amanda's fireplace.--Nice. That should help your back if you quit lifting things like you're thirty.”

“The one thing Spock had to inherit from me,” Sarek said. “Yours?”

“It's...fiiiiine,” Ru said, stretching gingerly, and gave Kirk a sheepish half-grin. “What was he wanting to ask? I didn't catch that.” Of course Sarek hadn't had to say it.

“About the estimable T'Rouf. He doesn't understand the competition.”

Ru looked mystified for a second. “Oh! We all just look Vulcan to you, don't we? If only we saw one another that way.” He took the excuse to put his arms around Judy. “At one time, we'd have both been killed for this. Can't have any of those tall thin gray-eyed brunettes around. Hanging with people like this is what made Surak get those crazy ideas about peace and logic.”

Judy leaned back into his arms. “On the other hand, Rouf is Kiri, and she was my mentor at medical school. She was also famous when she was young because the interaction between Kir and ShiKahr, was mostly back and forth assassinations and flinging nuclear weapons at each other with the seaside nations in between trying to duck. Kiri are usually shorter and most of them have darker skin and brownish hair. They like to think they're great snipers. Syrannites are lighter-skinned, fine-boned and usually smaller, like Nick. There were all kinds of political groups you won't have to worry about--” _why_ , Kirk wondered, _can I hear that embedded, unspoken “I hope”_? “but you might hear mentioned, like the Assassins of Gol, the Raptor's Wing--”

“That I did hear about from Kharr.”

“He would know. I suppose he explained about what happened on Q'onos.”

“He said the Raptor's Wing were chased by a black wave.”

“More like...” Sarek was weighing words partly concealed behind a delicate veil of etiquette, “ _the_ Black Wave. One Vulcan nation's military force. Not a group one would wish to encounter without a sizable army, and even that would have been no guarantee. There are more surviving descendants of those than of any other nation, even off-world because so many were declared _vrekampt_.”

“How would I know? I mean...what did they look like?”

Uncomfortable silence would have been a vast improvement. He felt wrapped in some kind of apology mixed with shame and even a tinge of fear. Spock had come out of the bedroom and Kirk felt the tiny jolt of _He asked. Now what?_ Ru motioned him beside Sarek, stood there himself, then brought up a page on his notepad. “Does this explain it?”

A crowd of tall, broad-shouldered men and women in black uniform jackets followed an equally tall, broad-shouldered woman with long black hair loose on her shoulders and a scar down one cheek: General T'Shaara and her house guard. The ugly statue...the story on it... “I see,” Kirk gulped, looking from the picture to the reality. He heard a small rustle of _You had to ask, didn't you?_ “I had to know.”

Sarek turned his diplomacy to the situation. “Now that he's aware, Judy, that explanation?”

“You were correct. I feel like an idiot for missing it. Very distinct signature in saliva from everyone I tested. I went back through old blood samples from those injured when we first got here and the levels have spiked in everyone else, but held steady for you, Ru and Spock. Rai took the lottery synthesizer apart and cleaned it top to bottom, and he found what you'd think: all the supply chutes were lined with a thick coat of Trellium-D.”

Kirk looked at Ru's notes again: the chemical had been a shielding compound used in early warp drive days, withdrawn from Federation use because, when ingested by Vulcans or Romulans over any length of time, it caused loss of emotional control. “Wasn't that superfluous?”

“It was likely an effort to get us to kill one another. I would assume to soften up the planet for invasion,” Spock leaned over his shoulder to look at the results, brushing Kirk with a wave of peace. “The prime question will be where the material was obtained.”

“But who--”

“We can rule out Kharr and his people,” Ru said. “For one thing, I've known him so long I'd be sure if he'd done it. They would also be affected, although the primary effect on humans and Klingons isn't as bad. With your iron-heavy blood, you get increased psychic reception, so our unshielded thoughts will bother you more and more, but you shouldn't get loss of control. Not that Klingons had much to begin with. It's almost certainly outside and could be humans, Klingons, Romulans, some combination, or Andorians working alone, because nobody likes them anyway.”

“I asked Uhura to look into it,” Spock said. He looked down at the chair in silent admiration.

“Yes. It does,” Sarek said, leaning back further. “And no. Go get your own.”

“I had one, but Jim took it. And you helped him keep it. You always liked him best.”

“Nothing like a roomful of angry men with sore backs,” Judy said cheerfully. “By the way, we have a supply run arriving in the night. They have contact with the friendly Romulan vessel and the friendly Klingon fleet and they'll be undisturbed.”

Kirk scratched his head. “How...?”

“Better you don't know so you can't think about it. A whole lot of people are all but unshielded right now. Normal touch telepaths are picking up several feet away. As for those who don't have to touch anyone to begin with...” she looked at Ru.

“The inside of my head is like trying to dock at Frisco with the whole fleet coming and going around me. I had to do a serious ground already today and I'll never get to sleep if I don't do it again. Davy nearly fried the electronics he was working on.”

“I nearly what?” Davy was dragging the rest of the Romulan chairs on a dolly, save for one he had slung on his shoulder. “One set of conference room furniture, stolen and delivered.”

Spock filled him in on the developments. The mention of the supply run made Davy exude such a wave of happiness that Kirk had to smile and Spock nearly did. “I can't wait to see Daddy and Nick.”

“Good,” Judy said. “I was afraid Nick would stay in the dust and all.”

“Those two do anything separately? I doubt it. Thick as thieves,” Davy said, and glanced between Kirk and Spock. “Yeah, that's familiar.”

 _Sarek needs them here_ , Kirk heard, as if Spock had spoken.

_I don't suppose_ _**you** _ _do._

_Additional chaos, but a relief. I know our good fortune._

Good Heavens, had he even thought that in Standard? Davy had been tuning his lyre. He leaned over and dropped the instrument onto Sarek's lap. “About time. If it hurts, let it hurt, but you won't last long without that.”

Still barely moving, Sarek let his fingers find the strings, but did not sound them. “Should I?”

Spock left Kirk's side and sat on his father's desk beside his feet, folding his arms. “Yes.”

“Just what the planet needs: more chaos from the illogical.”

Ru planted himself on the other side of Sarek's feet, and Kirk sensed warmth rippling outward that could only be gentle teasing. “Got something against us _v'tosh ka'tur_?”

“No. I'm wondering whether there's anyone on this planet who isn't.”


	18. Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is graphic. It contains depictions of battle, triage and trauma care that may be disturbing. There'll be a summary at the beginning of the next chapter for anyone who doesn't want to look at the wreckage while it's still fresh. Seriously...proceed with caution. It has to happen to move the story along, but none of it is pretty.

Morning target practice was underway when Kirk arrived after a brief inspection of the new phaser base. Two stockbrokers and a shipping clerk had put it together and were inordinately proud of their accomplishment. The Klingons had helped them a little, but were generous with their praise. Spock offered to help the would-be gunners learn aiming skills while he looked for good ground for the port security base around the rocks. "We didn't have one at ShiKahr, so of course there was none on the plans. That error will be rectified."

"I love it when a plan comes together, but this one can be creepy at times."

"It's not ShiKahr and this is not then. Believing it so is not logical." Spock climbed to the top of the outcrop. "This would be a good spot. Three-sided protection and a clear field of fire."

"Only you still set up for a ground offensive every time you do a military exercise."

"I know there were no additional points to be had for it at the Academy, but real life tends to offer other awards. Like remaining alive."

"By the way, Judy was trying to referee some disagreement this morning between one of the elders back on Earth and someone here who was... _vrekasht_?"

"Someone who had been thrown off Vulcan and completely cut off, yes. The more forceful version of being _vrekampt_ , unwelcome in town."

"I didn't get the sense that the person had done anything to endanger others or be disloyal."

"A young man asked to break an arranged childhood bond. Actual logic would have dictated that since his parents were not people of good character, and his intended spouse was their choice precisely because of that, he should have been allowed to walk away. However, he was obligated to wait until he could challenge, which would have had the unfortunate effect of rendering him a slave to the woman if she won and a pariah if she didn't. He declined either to challenge or to consummate the bond, instead going offworld with the young woman you met. The elders asked him to leave Vulcan because of his failure to accept his fate in a properly stoic manner."

"Spock..." he shook his head. "That's nuts."

"Never mind the planet being consumed from the inside out. Society was consuming itself. Now it wishes to continue, and there is no time to allow it to do so. Surak meant well, but I have read John's translation and I tend to think Jarok meant better. Emotions are to be mastered, not denied. How can someone be thrown off Vulcan when there is no Vulcan to be thrown off?"

"That's not logic, it's bureaucracy." He watched the port coming together; workers were digging trenches by hand, laying cable by hauling it bodily, installing the light towers by climbing on them and using wrenches, all in a quest to stay busy. Someone had put the alert siren on one of the tallest towers and was climbing down when the siren began to roar, echoing off the rocks and the desert in the cold thin air. "Test?"

"No. Malfunction or." Spock quickly checked his padd. "Not a drill. Combat overhead."

"Who is it?"

"Four birds of prey versus two D7 cruisers. This will not be good."

The effect of watching a battle beyond shields turned out to be a fireworks show in broad daylight. The shields flared and rippled as energy weapons missed their targets. Projectiles pierced and crackled on entry. Bright shards began to flame across the sky, some bouncing off the shields, some dropping through to fall into the desert. It was hard to trust the tactics text that said when half the planet was taking fire over shields, the odds of any one spot being hit by debris were minimal. That assumed a fully settled planet with multiple attractive targets. New Vulcan only had one, and it was less than five kilometers across. He hoped random chance wouldn't turn to purposeful attack anytime soon.

The citizens had dropped their work and turned out with every weapon they could find. He remembered the decor of Spock's Academy quarters, which had two entire walls of assorted sharp and dangerous things in a variety of lengths and pointiness. Now he saw the effect of the attitude in motion. "Desert knives," Spock said. "When you pass your kahs-wan, you get your desert knife for your boot. It's a practical tool more than a weapon these days. At least, it was. As for the women, most of them may not be fully aware of how to use their dress blades, but they're certainly wearing them."

"I don't even know what some of those weapons are or where they got them."

"You'd be surprised how fast a replicator can churn out a supply of lirpas. Ahn woons are not that difficult to come by if you have enough cargo strapping." He dug in his pocket and handed Kirk a phaser. "Keep that. It's one of my backups."

The phaser bank behind the planned security tower began to howl as someone powered it up. A couple of the engineers had spent a few days salvaging the Klingons' propulsion system and installing the big power core in the hillside so it could run the weaponry without sapping the city plant. Since the Klingons never went unprepared to a party, he suspected the phasers wouldn't run out anytime soon. He had never been around any land-based emplacements, so the sheer racket was enough to make him suggest they walk over to watch from the edge of town.

The hospital was preparing, to his alarm. Davy, who had been visiting the last few wounded who hadn't been discharged, had changed into scrubs. "Haven't been in surgery since fourth year, but I'm heck on learning fast. If we need more than Judy and me for doctors, it won't matter anyhow."

Judy was no longer the calm, pretty girl. In command, she seemed taller, striding up and down the aisles, checking and double-checking work as she also kept an eye on the battle reports and messages from nearby ships. "There you two are. Ru is getting the ship ready to move if we need it."

"A cargo ship?"

"The command dart is armed to the teeth, didn't you notice? Nothing is a soft target now."

"That's debatable," Kirk muttered under his breath. Two thousand civilians in one small spot, versus who knew how many Romulans and possibly disloyal Klingons, didn't seem like a good idea.

 

Sarek watched the last beam lift into place on the bank building. At least there was some sense to having such a thing on New Vulcan, minor though it was. In the background, the port siren began to scream and he tried to run in that direction for a few paces before he chided himself for looking foolish. Haste had been more than warranted before, but surely now it was not.

Except that the padd in his pocket was also screaming a warning.

He was a few blocks from home, so he went there as fast as he could walk. One of the self-appointed guards waved him through the gate. "Battle overhead, _osu._ " She was wearing a Vulcan Navy uniform from at least a century ago. He tried to fathom how anyone would happen to have that lying around after the apocalypse and gave up. There was a message in the secure section: _Just got in, things are messy. M and S are coming through the back door with supplies_.

If that was supposed to make sense beyond the obvious, that Lia had her hands full with the battle, he wasn't sure. There didn't seem to be much reason to stay where he was; if anything did happen, it was almost certain to take place at the port and the shields' necessary thin spot.

 _Sa'mekh'li? Both of them?_ His grandfathers' presence across their family bond was so strong he turned to see if John was behind him. He looked around again, and he was, with Nick at his side where he belonged. "Heck of a note, kid. You oughta see the fight shaping up."

"So I have gathered." It was not logical to feel so much relief at such a time. He wasn't sure that mattered in the least. "I take it 'through the back door' was not figurative."

"No, we parked around back to make it easier to unload the heavy equipment we brought. By the way, on our way off Earth we sat down with Silek and explained to him about the Trellium-D poisoning. Poor kid had huge levels on top of the pneumonia, which was most likely related. Whoever was doing the planting even contaminated his shoes. He was desperate to come and help, but I told him to stay where he is and get well. We didn't want to drag him into another contaminated field and maybe kill him." Nick looked him over. "You still look like hell, but not quite as bad as you did."

"I've been better, but I'm better." The house guards arrived loaded for sehlat, realized the actual situation and began to unload the transport with admirable efficiency. "Will the shields hold?"

"You're the one with the physics degree. We won't lose them entirely if there aren't too many direct hits. Energy weapons may flare off, but if a ship goes out of control the whole thing may make it in around the port."

He eyed Nick. "You repeat an analysis."

"Yeah, and that's the best-case scenario. You don't want to know about the worst case ones. Well, the worst case ones, we're already dead, so those didn't happen."

Most ships' auto-guidance systems would try to land them safely if they were disabled, and every one he had seen was designed to scan for a passenger port to go through if there were shields. "The phaser banks went online today."

"You may be using them very shortly. The analysis had a hostile bird of prey come through in about twenty minutes." Neither of them was likely to catch up with John when he was on the move, medic pack on his shoulder, so they picked up all of the house weapons and hitched a ride with the next vehicle. Kirk and Spock were at the phaser base again, hands over their ears to dim the power-up noise. Ru was watching the sky, torn between his rifle and his ship on the pad.

"Take it," Spock said quietly. "I have this."

Ru handed him the rifle. "Spot for him, Jim. I'm going to see what I can do with that."

 _Ruven—_ two minds called to him, but he didn't look back.

 _I know._ He walked away straight-backed across the sand.

"Yes," Kirk said to Spock, "that was what you looked like on the _Jellyfish_."

In his son's eyes were the wish to follow Ru, pride, worry that he wouldn't come back, worry that he might let Kirk get hurt, but Sarek could find no trace of fear. _A thousand years ago they would have written poems about my sons,_ he thought. For Spock, it wasn't even blood rage. The softer emotions of Earth left no sharp edges to deal with even with the drug cutting off inhibition. If there had been fear, it should have been radiating from him. It was from Kirk, who was ignoring it, and that was its own kind of mastery. _Amanda, do you see this? I know you hated war, but this is the only good thing about it_. _They're men and they are as brave as any woman_. _People will have to see that._

 _Brave women?_ Lia was near. He half expected to look up and see her ship descending. _Please, no, not with the whole Romulan fleet up there._

_Why not? Things aren't quite as hopeless as they seem, sa'kai'kam._

_You **did** hear me._

_Where I am nobody else will catch on_. _We're cloaked and can't intervene yet. I need as much time as you can buy. Help is coming, but it won't be immediate. I need time_.

Ordinarily, a fight would take place outside a solar system or in long spaces between planets; this one had closed in until twice he thought he saw the swimming outlines of ships beyond the shield port. A fresh eruption of energy flared just there, clearly a Klingon warbird firing everything it had, and the port and its surrounding shields glowed deeper and deeper purple with bright bands of failure.

The dying bird of prey tumbled through the broken shield and twisted on its way down. Someone was still directing its flight, steering it toward--

"Oh, no," Kirk said. "That can't—No!" The ground-based phasers opened up on it, ripping off a nacelle and twisting it away from the new city, then Ru was on it in the command dart and they disappeared around the curve of the planet. The warbird came through next, tumbling out of control past the fight and finally rolling into flight attitude as it smoldered.

The Romulan commander was intent on taking out the city. The Klingons were intent on taking out the Romulans without regard to where they might fall. Ru swooped between them, using the smaller dart's weapons like a scalpel to peel away bits of the Romulan starship and pull it off course. The Klingons appeared to understand at last and got in the eleven high, six back position that was hard to defend. The Romulan commander had no remaining flight options when the Klingons slammed down on the top aft of the remaining nacelle.

Transporter flash preceded the inevitable explosion. All of the Vulcans began to run toward the city, both to escape the blast wave from the desert and to intercept the Romulans. He hitched a ride again, that time on a truck that had just become a weapons platform skirting the base of the rocks. _That ship carried two hundred and fifty Tal Shiar shock troops,_ Lia said in his head. _I don't know how many survived. I can't help yet more than I just did. Try not to lose more people than you have to. I need to get out of here. Back later._

He looked back to see the wounded Klingon ship crumple softly on the sand at the port. Ru landed beside it. A Klingon landing party became his guard, running out ahead of him as he made for the city. _The Great Hall, he thought. They'll go for the Great Hall. No one should be inside at this time of day, so they may get inside and that won't be good._ Like most Vulcan buildings, the Great Hall had been built with numerous defensive positions on the grounds and indoors. An entrenched enemy of any strength--

Someone had connected the dots, because when the weapons truck rolled up the Romulans were shooting at the building and taking heavy return fire from inside. When anyone inside showed for a second, it was hard to tell dark gray Vulcan uniforms from gray and silver Romulan overtunics.

_What...Oh. "I can't help yet more than I just did." That would explain it._

 

The tactics involved were elegant, Kirk thought. Friendlies had managed to get into the Great Hall just in time, apparently from a Vulcan ship nearby, and they held excellent defensive positions. The Romulans were very well trained, but between the air battle and the casualties they were taking, the odds were rapidly turning against them. Ru and his Klingon detachment were coming down the side street from the north, the truckload of heavily armed Vulcans angled up from the south along the crater from the first day, and the Vulcan forces in the Great Hall completed the triangle at a high angle that was hard to escape. It hadn't been a bad gamble, running for the tallest and most secure building; doubtless the Romulans had expected a few civilians who could be overrun easily. "Stun!" one of the Vulcan women yelled, and half a dozen people snapped down the settings on rifles.

"Stun? Seriously?" Kirk handed Spock a fresh power pack. The Vulcans were nothing if not efficient about the battle; already over half of the Romulans were dead or stunned in the street.

"Their minds, Jim. We can get vast amounts of information." He picked off a Romulan sniper who had been trying to set up a nest. The rifle clattered down from the tall planter the sniper and spotter had occupied. That brought redoubled fire from another position tucked into one of the outer wall's crenellations. "No way to get to that."

He saw what Spock meant and silently complimented the Romulans. The position had been built for defense, so there was no easy shot from the back or sides and it was too tight into the building wall to allow for a hit from above. He heard T'Rouf and her spotter calling to each other from the top back of the truck. "By a hand left. There are twenty, watch the right side."

" _B'seder._ Take the commander. I have the lieutenant." That was the ShiKahri girl who had been so determined to outshoot T'Rouf. They were kneeling together, using the back of the truck's cab as a barricade. Both weapons spat. "Watch!"

Spock ducked and slammed Kirk from the truck bed to the ground all in the same motion, even as Kirk had grabbed for him. Sarek hit the dirt behind the truck a fraction before the grenade fell. The truck shattered on impact. The air filled with a spray of metal, sand, projectiles and green mist. Kirk took aim on a head that popped up briefly, but saw the shot chip concrete. Spock jumped up long enough to take a shot and dropped back to his knees, the rifle dropping from his hand as blood shot out of his shoulder and forearm. " _Fvadt_!" He stuffed the rifle into Kirk's hands and pulled a hand phaser from his pocket. "Having a restful vacation, Captain?"

"We get out of this, I'm going to sleep in war zones full-time where it's safer." He tried to stun the Romulan commander who seemed to be standing tall, but realized the job was already done. The man pitched forward over the edge of the impromptu bunker.

"Got him," T'Rouf said, her voice strained and thin. "Got my last one..."

The ShiKahri sniper took T'Rouf's face in her hands as she sank down. "Yes?"

"Yes, child. Wherever I need to go with you, yes."

Sarek climbed forward to look, glanced back, his message obvious even had Kirk not been able to hear it: _Gone already, nothing to be done. Spock?_

 _Not serious. It can wait._ He changed the hand phaser setting with his teeth and stood up long enough to throw it into the bunker where it would overload. Ru and the Klingons were moving in close, saw the phaser and held back. As soon as it went off, one of the Klingons, swinging a bat'leth, lunged for the bunker in a brave useless charge. Most of the Romulans were thrown out of the bunker, but a handful remained, and one shot the Klingon as he leapt the barrier and snatched the bat'leth from his hands as he fell.

 _Taking souvenirs makes no sense now. They're running out of power and she plans to use it when we charge._ Kirk took advantage of the momentary pause to look around. The Vulcans inside the building began to move near the windows, looking for an angle. The ones around the burnt truck pulled away the wounded and laid down what was left of T'Rouf's body.

A vehicle rumbled behind them in spite of the increasingly intermittent shots. "Out of the way. Move!" someone barked, and the sea parted.

Kirk had never seen anything like it. The machine was low-slung, orange, battered and grimy, roaring forward at jogging speed. The front end was a pair of arms holding a horizontal cylinder studded with six-inch steel teeth, like a gigantic cheese grater. As it passed him, Nick, who was driving the beast, adjusted controls that lifted the cylinder and started it spinning. He drove up to the planted and carved a three-meter hole straight through the middle of its concrete wall. Ru and his Klingon patrol charged in behind it. There was a flurry of fire, then the last Romulan subcommander threw her rifle into full auto and dropped it at the crowd while she swung the bat'leth at Ru. He winced, grabbed the bat'leth and smashed it through the rifle's firing mechanism. Three Vulcans from the building jumped the wall and tackled the subcommander. Ru took two steps out of the bunker, as if he were looking for something, then collapsed.

It couldn't have taken Solkar half a second to be there. The steady stream of swearing under his breath was Kirk's first hint. "Where's the hepatic artery where's the artery _there_..."

"I'll get it." One of the Klingons yanked a clamp from his own medical pack. "Move him. Now!" The rest of the patrol snatched him up and ran down the block to the hospital. Sarek stood up, looked in that direction, made a small helpless gesture and went back to sorting the wounded. Six Vulcans and two Klingons were obviously beyond help already.

"Good thing we had that first aid course," Kirk said, and went back to doing what he could.

 

The Vulcan Marine was in middle age and in other circumstances would have been lovely. Clutching her lower abdomen on the steps of the Great Hall, she wrenched her head up to meet Sarek's eyes, fumbling for heavily accented Golic. "Is this New Vulcan? Tell me it is."

"It is. Where are you hit?" Never mind, it was obvious, and so was--

"Take the baby. All my life, wanting to be on Vulcan, no chance now, New Vulcan for her, free. Take her. Don't wait. She's so early, but make her the first here."

He made to lift her, but Mestral, sensing the problem, fired up the machine, helped him sling her aboard and blazed down the street to the hospital doors. Judy ran out to meet them. "Red tag, we can't wait." They ran inside with her. She pulled up the woman's tunic and made one fast slash. "Take her!" Judy jammed the tiny baby into his hands and slashed the cord, pinching it and squeezing it down.

His hands would have done it without his brain intervening. They were already clearing the baby's mouth and squeezing her chest, swinging her gently upside down to clear her airway. His thumbs found her heart and began the quick rhythm while he puffed the smallest of breaths into her mouth. How early? Two months, three? Old enough that her ears already had their delicate tips, her eyes their dark lashes. Beautiful, like the mother on the stretcher next to him. He begged the baby to put up with the cold and the light. Her ribs were feathers under his hands. She gasped once, just once, and his own heart wanted to stop, not again, not this time. Nick brought a rough dry towel to wrap her in and rub her with. That got another gasp, and another, and a flutter beneath his fingertips that became a heartbeat again, and the tiniest of kitten mews instead of a cry. One of the Vulcans from the building, with that same heavy accent, said "I'm a nurse. I'll take her. This is T'Kar, our healer," and the new doctor relieved Judy and began patching deep in the mother's abdomen as she lay gray and still.

Empty-handed, he looked around. "Over here!" John handed him an IV set. "I haven't had a chance to show you yet." He grabbed Sarek's face and gave him the mental image he needed to make the connection, then kept up a mental commentary with him while he found the only good vein on the patient's neck for the needle.

"Where's the blood recirculator? I need one here NOW," Judy barked, and someone brought it, but the patient was still cold under his hands. He moved the drape that had been thrown over the patient's neck and almost fell.

Ru.

He closed the connection with John—no offense, _sa'mekh'li,_ you don't need to see this—and snatched another large-bore needle from the tray. _Don't think, just do._ He willed his blood not to clot until it got where it was needed.

Judy was momentarily pleased. "That's doing it, whatever you got that's _dammit!_ "

The Klingon medic leaned in. "Don't your livers regenerate like ours?"

"They do. You're right, that whole lobe has to go and so does that piece of lung. This is not the time to be fancy. Oh, no you don't!" She punched the heart in her hands and it started again. Her laser sealed what was torn and broken and the monitors made marginally less ominous noises. The chaos was receding, or else he was, stepping back and away until it was more and more distant. "Keep the blood coming. That's making the difference. Davy, can you spare that much?"

He leaned past Sarek with a warm liter bag. "I did—Damn, Sarek!" He snatched off the tubing and switched it to the blood bag. "Are you nuts? Of course, but--"

He wanted to close his eyes. No, people still needed him. "We know it matches. Ru can have all of it he needs."

"He's had as much of yours as you can give. Sit down!" Davy kicked a stool out and put him on it on his way by. There was nothing else to do without standing up, so he took Ru's head in his hands and tried to remember everything John had taught him about keeping body and soul together.

 

"I didn't sign up for this," Kirk muttered as he picked the last bit of shrapnel out of a young man's shoulder and sent him off glued together. Somehow he and Spock had inherited the green-tag triage line, the way they did at the fall of Vulcan. "Dammit, Spock, I'm a captain, not a doctor."

"At least you can use both hands. Tie that, would you?"

He did, then wished he hadn't. "Oh, you are _not_ going to give blood when you're--"

"I'm not bleeding that badly. Ru is. End of story. Unless you can do this."

"Yes, Captain." He finished the job for Spock before he lost his nerve. _If I get out of this I am going to get a job selling vegetables. Vegetables do not bleed. They do not donate blood in stupid ways on purpose. They do not get into pitched battles with elite Romulan troops._

_Wait a minute. They do not **win** pitched battles with elite Romulan troops._

_Handily._

_If we hadn't had those hundred or so in the Great Hall...Where did they come from?_

He loosened the tourniquet. "Can I patch these holes in you while we're at it, or do you want to go to the back of the line for extra martyr credits? I don't think you get bonus Purple Hearts."

"Neither do you. I regret I won't be able to do much for your wounds."

"My what?" He bandaged the next person in line while Spock handed him supplies one-handed.

John strode by, eyeing up the incoming line. "Yellow. Yellow. Yellow. Green. Red tag!--go!--ah. Black. I grieve with thee.--Yellow. Yellow. Green, green, green." Once he had loaded every queue again, he went back to hands-on care with an efficiency that rattled Kirk. _He's done this before. A lot. Not only San Francisco. This is old hat and Nick Mestral is used to it too._ Those fully trained as medics were handling the yellow-tag cases, stabilizing fractures and dressing burns with help from whoever was available and skilled enough. Most of the green tags were coming through only because they had carried someone else in and been intercepted by a medic. He and Spock kept going mechanically, handing out bandages, offering minor painkillers, helping rinse eyes or pick out gravel.

The colonists were remarkably calm for people who had been ready to explode for two weeks. Their Romulan prisoners looked not so much resentful as stunned, a few muttering "But how? _How_?" They also seemed surprised not to be tortured or dismembered outright. The fight was over, and it was all the way over for the time being. The newly arrived Vulcans waited until the very last; they had brought a lot of their own supplies and would have been able to handle matters themselves had they not needed to lend out their surgeon and nurse. Last in line was the new Vulcan commander who had waited patiently to have someone help her straighten out a couple of dislocated fingers.

"I don't know what would have happened without all of you, but it wouldn't have been good. I honor your courage," he said, hoping he had the phrase right. The commander made the faint nod that meant _You're welcome_. "But...may I ask where you came from?"

"The Vulcan navy," she answered, making a slight face when Spock pulled on her ring finger.

"Uh...yes, but...in orbit?"

"Not at the moment. Our ship had to leave for a while." She forced herself to relax so the kinked little finger would straighten. "I do not have authority to reveal more information without an evaluation of your security clearance."

Fair enough. "That pregnant Marine...didn't she know?"

"Yes, but she thought she had time, and no soldier ever thinks she'll be the one to take a hit." She let Kirk tape the fingers. " _S'haile,_ if I may, that seems to be your case also."

"Thank you, but I'm fine," he said, and fell off the stool.


	19. Balancing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who couldn't read the last chapter, a Romulan bird of prey got through the shield port with a Klingon on her tail. The ensuing chase and crash made a mess in the desert, the Tal Shair troops aboard the bird of prey tried to make a mess out of the new Great Hall, some Vulcan Navy troops appeared, and it didn't end well for the Tal Shiar. It didn't end well for the old Vulcan sniper T'Rouf, either. A third of the Vulcans are wounded, some very badly, including Ru, and some not as badly, including Kirk and Spock, who did a lot of stupidly heroic things as usual. 
> 
> This chapter is aftermath. That, and a baby, who is the last vestige of sanity for a lot of characters we know.

There was no time to think. The battle overhead had abated, but the reason seemed to be that the Romulan fleet had chased something—the Klingons, some bold Federation soul, some of their own people—off at a distance to renew the battle. The news feed was on in the staff room at the hospital, and it was nothing but breathless commentators of a dozen races assuring everyone that doomsday was imminent for the fragile remnants of Vulcan.

Betazoid commentators seemed to be the most blunt. “Admiral T'Arenniye's force is formidable and is about to be even more so. We have had reports that the long-rumored seven heavy cruisers under construction for the past five years have left the Empire's Kir Haran shipyards and are enroute to the New Vulcan battleground, making it clear that they do have hyperwarp capability. It's a real shame that the entire Vulcan race will be wiped out, but the question now is where and when to evacuate Earth.” Human news was saccharine by comparison and still depressing enough to make Kirk wish he could turn it off if they didn't all need it.

The Madmiral insisted on interrupting one of his rest breaks with another tirade about “those who defiled our Empire for so long” and “ridding ourselves of these contaminants.” Apparently, she had loaded another old cargo ship and blown it up, and no one knew how many Vulcan and hybrid prisoners she had exterminated that time. She gave so many details that it was clear she had been close enough to see the fighting around New Vulcan. “I regret that the Tal Shiar vessel _The Claw_ missed its objective so badly. No more lives need be wasted on those Yyiao. We are already covered with glory for the thousands removed from the Empire, and we will finish the job in spectacular fashion wherever they may be in hiding.”

“Boy, Hellfire's in rare form tonight,” Davy snorted as he grabbed a cup of water. The staff room wasn't used as a place to change clothing, only to get away for a few minutes and catch breath, or for Kirk to lie down when he was too dizzy to keep moving. It was clear that he had underestimated his healing to begin with, that his body wasn't up to what he had put it through even before, and that even the shrapnel and burns he had caught from the grenade by themselves would ordinarily have been worth a week of profound self-pity and a couple of weeks of shore leave with bragging privileges. Here, they were an annoyance that could not be gratified. The hospital had a warm ward and a cold ward, and the medics and doctors were not very subtle about trying to keep him in the warmth. It wasn't all that warm, merely human-tolerable, which meant the Vulcans were miserable even without their wounds. Most retreated into healing silence within an hour or so, leaving the Vulcan warm ward quiet with staff watching monitors and occasionally hurrying to correct some imbalance. Even the Romulan warm side was calm enough with most of the patients sedated.

The cold ward was far less peaceful. During first aid class Judy had explained that ceturies of warfare had left Vulcans with ironclad immune systems and fast healing. “Unless you bleed out on me within the first hour or have an overwhelming head injury or brain damage from oxygen deprivation, nearly anything else is survivable.” The key to saving those who had bled excessively or had brain injuries was cold and absolute undisturbed rest on full life support for at least three days, followed by slow warming and nearly constant attention from a team of healers once it was time to coax the patient's katra to handle his body functions. The nature of the wounds in the cold ward meant none of the patients was in full emotional control. Getting the Romulans to calm down was nearly impossible without pharmaceuticals that affected the injuries, and the Vulcans needed frequent direct melds with healers or anyone who could help.

On the morning after the battle, Kirk was trying to lie down on a bench for a few minutes when he heard pleas for help from the cold ward. While moans and half-dreaming cries were the usual, these were raw agony, followed by a burst of frantic activity and a huge wave of despair from multiple people. He tried to jump up to go look. “Stay here,” one of the newly arrived Vulcans said. She hurried into the ward and came back in a moment, openly dismayed. “We lost that young man who was driving the truck. His father was here when the healer knew it was obvious.”

In a moment, the man's friend carried his body through the staff room in his arms on their way to the morgue, with the distraught father following numbly as if he wanted to be dead himself. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he got up to hold the outside door for the burial party, closed it carefully, sat down and realized he was dripping tears. _Somebody had to tell his dad._ He had a sharp, unwanted image of the _Jellyfish_ and the moment that didn't happen, the one where he wold have had to walk up to Sarek and tell him Spock was another dead hero. He mopped the tears away as quickly as he could and fought off any more with all he'd learned lest he set off the rest of the staff. The ship's healer stared at him and whispered “Admirable. We did not know that humans could...Admirable.”

“Oh, not so much, I'm still upset. I just didn't want to make things worse for everyone else.”

“That's how we work too. Isn't that the whole _Kir'Shara_?” She reached out, hesitant. “You're Human...may I touch you?” Her pat on his shoulder let her see that he was tired but could do his job, and assured him that no one would think ill of him for resting when it meant he would be more efficient afterwards. “I never understood why Solkar thought we should deal with humans. It appears I need to reeducate myself significantly,” she said. “Your mind is fascinating, _Khart-lan_ , and useful. Care for it well and rest.”

He thought of going to D'H'Riset, but sleeping on the floor seemed to have become his lot in life. There were some sheets of Tyvek and a few pieces of plastic foam in the corner; he made himself a nest behind one of the benches and lay down in it. He was almost asleep when Sarek hurried in, also looking for water. He gulped down what he'd come for, bent over the bench, felt Kirk's forehead— _I'm okay, just so, so tired_ —and said “Rest well, _sa'fu,_ ” before he was off again.

 

She was a Romulan subcommander. At first, she hadn't told them her name, only her military identifier. After the first day, when she was not tortured and no one tried to meld with her to extract information, she told them to call her Mijne. It might have been her name, might not; at first Sarek had little time to think about that when he hurried from one bed to another.

Ru was still in an induced coma in the cold room, the marine who had given birth was still in extremely critical condition, and several others were delicate enough that they needed constant attention. Kirk turned out to be a remarkably decent nurse, once John showed him how to control some of his own pain so he wasn't too distracted to help. As for Spock, he managed to keep working with his arm in a sling; he was most useful as a pharmacy technician, where he could sit down and didn't have to have full use of both hands to weigh, measure and blend. With over a third of the population injured to some degree, ten percent of it badly enough to be bedridden, and the increasingly quivery shields needing constant attention, thirteen hundred reasonably fit civilians and a hundred Vulcan Navy officers and starsailors threw themselves into work because their lives depended on it.

After the first rush, he did have to pay attention to the Romulan subcommander, because John kept calling him to her bed. She had taken a bad lungful of the caustic Romulan coolant in the crash, on top of her other injuries, and while the skeletal problems might have healed, the chemical-burned lungs wouldn't. She was quiet about it, but within a few hours, the eventual outcome was clear to everyone unless one of the Romulan doctors could help.

He went to contact the Romulans to arrange the return of the wounded. The hail was met within seconds by a young officer who heard him out and sent his request on, leaving him with a blank screen. Soon enough, he faced the familiar nightmare of Admiral Hellfire, with her kohl-winged eyes and the terrible black scar. “Daise'Khre'Riov Arreinye. I am Sarek of Vulcan.”

“Rha'.” The admiral eyed him as if he were some small crawling insect in dire need of swatting. “Your business with us is?”

He held that black gaze steady with his own. “You have a number of wounded here who can safely return to your fleet for care. There is also a subcommander whose condition is grave. It is our doctors' opinion that she cannot be moved. If there is a doctor aboard one of your ships who could see her, perhaps more could be done, and if she has family aboard, perhaps they could be of use to her.”

“My soldiers are their family,” Arreinye said, unblinking.

“In that case, perhaps her family aboard should see to her.”

“In that case, you are correct. Pitiful and helpless, but correct. I will receive our wounded and send a doctor to see what you _fehill'curaki_ have done to my subcommander.”

The doctor who beamed down under escort was young, pretty, and within minutes sad. “I'm sorry, Subcommander Mijne,” she said, “but they really are doing their best. I can offer no better even if you were well enough to get to the ship. I've brought some benjasidrine to ease your breathing, but you need new lungs,and by the time we make some...”

“Understood, Saehir. I'm not happy about it, but understood, and I'm well cared for.” After the doctor left with the Romulans who could be moved, she lay back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. “Interesting planet you have here. At one time, I'd have looked forward to conquering it.”

Sarek didn't catch the faint inflection, but John did as the cough started again and he bent down to help her sit upright. He almost smiled. “At one time, I'd have liked to try conquering you.”

“I always did have in mind dying in the arms of a beautiful man.” She leaned into John, hacked and swallowed, her throat dry from the all but constant cough. “But I thought it would be a century and a half or so from now.” Behind her back, he showed Sarek the bright points where her lungs were already too far gone. _Look. Understand. Remember. This cannot be fixed. This is what death on the way looks like._ “You've surprised me. They always told us not to expect mercy.”

“We try. It doesn't always happen, but we want it to.”

“So many, so many...They told us about Vulcans. One of them was in custody half a year and under constant Tal Shiar interrogation for a month, and did not break. And he was a man! The courage we saw during the battle was incredible. They should be proud.”

“May I ask whether you have a family?”

“Not much use for those secrets now, is there? No, I didn't yet, thought there would be time. How's the baby?” The newborn down the line had begun to whimper.

John turned toward him. “Sarek, bring her over when you tend to her, will you?”

_Is that a good idea?_

_Yes. I know mercy has its limits, but we aren't there yet._

The baby was curled into a tiny warm ball when he picked her up. Vulcan babies weren't as messy as humans, or half-humans; bodies built for the desert didn't waste much water. The nurses had been drawing the mother's milk. He took the syringe and let the baby suck it down while he held her against his heart. “You are inconvenient, little one, but most welcome,” he said. Sitting was a very good idea; he hadn't come close to replacing the blood he'd given yet, and sitting while she fed allowed him to rest for that few minutes. “Do you have a name yet, I wonder?”

“Cordais,” the Vulcan nurse said in passing. “Her mother's last word before her trance.”

Cordais. Faith, but in Romulan. The Vulcan word wasn't as graceful. It was very un-Romulan to give her such a name; they often named babies to repel evil, so there were a lot of Pains and Miseries around. “Is there news of her mother?”

“Nothing yet. Acceptable, not worse.” The nurse hadn't been exposed to the Trellium-D, but her control wasn't what it must have been at one time. He could feel the frustration around her. Once the baby was full and yawning, he carried her to the subcommander's bed. “Here is our gift Cordais.”

“ _Ta'krenn_ , how tiny, how perfect. _Vulkansu_ , they have more color than we, this beautiful mint of her little ears. She will be beautiful.” She touched the tip of an ear. “Listen, Cordais, if someone offers you a Tal Shiar commission, defect if you have to. Buy land, marry a farm hand and be happy.”

 

“You seem to be managing,” Kirk said as he picked up another tray of medications.

“Moderately, after a fashion,” Spock admitted. “You?”

“Every time I think about complaining, somebody's worse off. Bones would be laughing his butt off if he saw us right now.”

“No.”

“No? Him, miss a chance to make fun of me?”

“He'd be ordering you to bed. You look terrible.”

“You're a good one to talk.” Hanging on the edge of the pharmacy counter for a moment, he got a double dose of tired, with some side orders of pain and general malaise from those around him. “Oof. I don't know how long the Trellium-D will take to wear off, but we could do without it.”

“I do. We could. And you won't like the answer.” He gave Spock his best so-tell-me look. “Six months, at the earliest. Seven point three is the average. And some of the damage is irreversible at the levels to which we have all been exposed.”

“I'm always going to hear you think?”

“Worse, Captain. I'm always going to hear  _you_ .” He pointed his chin across the way. “If I am moved to self-pity, I am reminded that he and my brother will have it worse, should Ru survive. No human blood protected them, and they were empaths to begin with.”

“Emp—I thought you were touch telepaths.”

“Not him. Not Ruven. To a great degree, not John Solkar. I was much more fortunate.” That was debatable. “To have others' thoughts constantly intruding, to be bombarded...then to live among humans voluntarily. John told me it was because humans are softer. I wasn't sure what he meant until recently.”

“Living on Vulcan all that time...”

“I didn't. We were frequently in San Francisco or at the consulate in Pittsburgh. I must concur. Humans, for all their erratic behavior, are easier. Vulcans suppress to ease others' exposure to our sharp edges. Empaths don't have that luxury. The world, to them, is broken glass. Humans have at least some smoother parts.  _Sa'mi_ needed to be on Earth as much as Solkar and Mestral did, before they were there so much they became John and Nick.”

He wasn't sure what to say, so he sat still in the warmth that seemed to bind him and Spock. “What, if it's not wrong to ask, is a _t'hy'la_? I heard John use that word to Nick one night.”

“Friend. Brother. Lover. It neither implies nor excludes a sexual relationship. The halves of a soul, as one poet said.”

“Let me guess. One of your relatives.”

“A very close relative. John and Nick have been so for so long that they no longer seem to think separately. When John was in stasis, Nick was too. He left instructions to, as he said, 'wake me up when the old goat needs me,' and so it was.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, thought so loudly that Kirk could hear anyway:  _Prime has spoken of his Jim so_ .

_No kidding_ .  _Prime never mentioned trying to kill his Jim._

_But he did mention wanting to on numerous occasions. And they were still t'hy'la. And speaking of those who are t'hy'la and lovers..._

Beside Ru's bed, Sarek held the baby so Judy could see her. Kirk heard the unspoken exchange as Judy thought  _What could have been._

_What still may be._

_Kaiidth, but that it could be_ . She rose, touched the baby's face, looked over the monitors again and moved on to the next bed. Ru, cold and silent, looked like a white wax figure. Sarek stood over him for a minute, cradling the baby with his eyes closed, then went back to her mother's side where the incubator was.

“I need to sit down,” Kirk said, “before I indulge the urge to go over there and hug him.” He found Spock beside him to look at that thought:  _She will never hold our grandchildren no matter who has them_ .

 


	20. Burying the Dead, Saving the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help has arrived, but it can't do much yet. In the meantime, there are dead to bury and wounded to comfort. 
> 
> Oh...in response to a question: something very like the incident with the smaller ship cutting up a larger warbird actually happened during World War II.

The Vulcans had discussed how to cremate their dead, and whatever they had settled on took place far out in the desert, quietly, while Judy left the hospital for an hour or so. Nick took the mining machine to the rocks and carved out a chamber for the urns and for the katric capsules the Navy had brought from their ship, wherever it was at the moment. The Klingons held a howling at their ship for the men they had lost.

The Romulan dead in the city were all at the hospital, and Kirk was surprised because some of the Vulcans came in and offered to prepare them for return. Spock also seemed mildly surprised, but soon understood. “For many,” he said, “for most, these are the first lives they took. Also, they didn't have an opportunity to perform any of the rituals during va'Pak, if they believe anything...” For once, he didn't add any comments about the illogic of belief. He could't do a lot, but he carried water and towels for those who washed and dressed the dead, combed out hair and straightened the broken bits before families saw them.

The Romulans' family in their unseen ships, and those prisoners who knew the dead, were escorted a few at a time to collect those they valued. Some brought clean uniforms for the dead, some medals that they wanted to see once more on some beloved shoulder. They were wary, of course, but seemed stunned when someone escorted them to the corpse they sought and they found it neatly arranged. The ambassadors knew how to conform to ceremony, so one of them greeted each group while the other two worked in the wards to prevent any further funerals.

One grim old Tal Shiar captain looked down at an aged comrade and dropped to his knees howling. Nick was being the ambassador at the moment, but he knelt beside the man anyhow and asked, in Romulan, “How many years?”

“A hundred and...twenty, perhaps? I've lost count. Since we were young.”

“I grieve with thee.” The captain stared at him in disbelief. Nick laid a hand on his back. “I know, but he's your friend. Take all the time you need.”

When most of the bodies had been claimed and moved, Spock pulled Kirk out of the middle of the morgue. “They need space,” he said, and in a few seconds the transporter shimmered down a half-dozen forms.

Including the Madmiral, elaborate hairdo, gaudy makeup and all. In person, she looked even less sane. Her uniform bore layers of medals and chains, with the Tal Shiar insignia as well as the fleet admiral's badge. She turned slowly, taking in the scene with her heavy-lidded eyes. Sarek had retrieved a robe, combed his hair and offered the ta'al, which was the most anyone could expect, but Arreinye eyed him coldly and returned a Romulan salute with a sneer. “Where are my wounded?”

“This way.” Sarek swept a hand in the direction of the warm ward.

She marched through ahead of him, refusing to look his way. Her eyes jabbed at Kirk and Spock for a moment as she passed by. “ _Hevam_ ,” she muttered. “The trash they let in here.”

The wounded didn't seem to know whether to salute or cringe. She stopped at each bed, doling out a medal, until she reached the door of the cold ward. “And my subcommander?”

“She is here.” They had moved her bed to the corner nearest the door, where their constant coming and going would disturb the others less, and there were curtains around her to shield her from the eyes, if not the minds, of passing Vulcans. Someone was caring for her while she coughed, so the party waited. Ru was across the wide aisle a few feet away. Kirk noticed the Madmiral's pitch-black eyes making a brief inquiry in that direction, though she said nothing.

John opened the curtain for them. “She's very weak.”

“Stronger than you Yyaio,” the Madmiral smirked. Her eyes met the subcommander's. “Leave us. I will interrogate her.”

Kirk had his mouth open to protest, but Sarek shook his head and steered him back to the staff room. “You can't just leave her there with--”

“I can and I did. Do not speak to Areinnye. She will not respond and you will do no good.” His tone was so cold and forbidding that Kirk's first thought was that Spock had been right to take off, but Sarek's mind was saying _Trust me_.

“We're going to try to wake Ru up soon,” Davy said. “If he doesn't come back to us by now, he's not going to. Soon as we get her out of here...”

“Understood,” Sarek said. “You two may be of service. Kirk, we will instruct you.”

 

Distraction could be death. In the silence, breathe. In the void, breathe. Cold, the halls, cold, not yet. Shimmering around him the hundred agonies, sharper nearby, the all too human Kirk worn out but staying staying holding onto Ru, Spock _never mind sa'mi I'm well enough_ , Ru so far down the dark cold hall, no. Breathe. The clots must hold, the ruins must heal, breathe.

At some point, while they were all ready and holding on, Judy had begun the slow process of warming him and backing down the machines. The respirator had been moving air for Ru, but breathing meant more than that. _Kaiidth_. _Let it hurt. Let it heal. Now let the warmth into the burning broken places. Let the oxygen run slowly through the cells. Yes, it hurts. Let it hurt. Let it heal_.

The vague impression of Kirk holding out a hand, pulling: _It can heal. It will heal. I know it can happen. Do you feel this, that I am alive and hurt, but am healing?_

The pure ferocity of Spock's grip, startling: _I will not let go. I will never let go of you. I had her torn out of my grasp, but I will not let go of you. If you keep going that way, I will go too._

Like dragging a heavy weight, pulling, the safe place. Almost there. Almost safe. Almost is not safe enough. Safe, the transporter shimmer, the warm daylight. _Almost is not safe. Waiting is not safe._ Dragging the weight of a soul.

 _Why?_ It was an awestruck whisper of contact, all Ru had.

_Why not?_

_I am inconvenient. And perhaps a monster._

_And my son. And perhaps a hero._

_And my brother. And a hero._

_There are no heroes. I was doing what needed done._

_Shut. Up. Come. Here_. For a male human, Kirk was commanding. _Stop scaring your brothers._ It was more like carrying a litter now, handing off the load on some dark slope. _Stop scaring your grandfathers and your dad. Get over here!_

And Spock, equally determined: _If you do not come here, I will go in your place._

 _You can't. You would_. _Oh, don't_. _Nyota would be so upset._

 _Judy will be angry with me if I let you go. You must come back_.

The load lightened, the way cleared, the cold began to ebb and the sun returned. _Come here, adun. Come here, ashayam._ Judy's call was stronger than any of the rest, so strong it could have lifted him all on its own, and still Ru was dazed, without will. _To my heart, adun. Here, to my heart where it is warm. Here, to my heart, where you are home._

_This home, aduna? Isn't home in the stars?_

_Come here. This is home for now. Come home, adun_.

 _ **Get back in that body!**_ If they had been walking a litter along up a slope, the new voice's barked command seized Ru by the scruff and threw him headlong back into life, piling the lot of them in a jumble in the warmth and the light. Swimming out of cold deep water, Sarek surfaced from the trance, his face pressed into the side of the litter in the makeshift hospital. The pain in his chest and side that was Ru's subsided as his soul crawled away from the mental pileup.

Without raising his lead-heavy head, he tried to gauge time. The light's slant through the windows said afternoon. There was a blanket around him. Ru's face was ice under his fingertips. “He's stable. He can handle it,” Judy said from a million miles away. “Take care of yourselves now.”

He rolled his weight back to his heels, prying his head up and looking around the hospital. All of the beds were still full. “Come on, get up.” He made to stand, but his knees would not unlock. Thin as old glass, he was lifted by the elbows, legs dangling for a moment before they found the floor, then held up by his arm forcibly draped around her shoulders. “You,” his sister said, “are going home to clean up and lie down.”

“I am needed here.”

Judy didn't think so either. “You are needed alive and if you stay here you won't be. He's out of danger and so are most of the others. You damned near killed yourself doing it, and so did Spock, but there you are. After three days in trance, the danger should be very small. I'll be a hundred percent sure when he's fully warmed. He's breathing on his own.” Judy stroked Ru's face. “Lia's right. Take a break.”

Spock pried his own fingers from Ru's, gently breaking the connection. Kirk sighed and sank deeper into his pillow on the next cot as the load lifted. Had he not understood, or had he understood and done it anyway? His fresh wounds were not trivial, his old ones only mostly healed, and yet he had been there. “Go, _sa'mi_. You need to.”

“I should go with you,” Davy hesitated, “but so many wounded...No matter who goes with you where, you gotta go outside, _now_.”

Not until Lia dragged him out of the hospital did he realize how true it was. The hospital's psychic war zone was a weight, the ice and snow, the white glare of midday sun, even the knifing dry air a relief as a transporter hit. His next recollection was of her walking him into the human-style bathroom, pulling his shirt off, bending him over the washbasin and bathing his face in warm water. “Look at this. You didn't let anyone tend to these cuts and now they're a mess. Amanda would rip my fool head off for letting you get to this state.--No, keep your head down.” She wrung out a small towel in hot water and laid it over the back of his neck while she fussed. Her fingers brushed the undefended psi-points, causing him to flinch as he tried to throw up shields. _Can't let her know..._

 _I do know_. _I knew when it happened._ When she finished with his face, she was about to take his hands but thought better of it. “Soak your hands, get them warm. You don't know how cold you are.” The warmth began to send hot sparks up his arms. “I've been in warmer cold storage, and she says you were either kneeling on that stone floor or running from patient to patient for four days.” The warmth thawed his face with all its small burning cuts, and the first hint of shivers twitched in his shoulders. She bent to look at his hands, brushing a couple of bad spots with the backs of her fingers. “The poor medics are carrying hypos in their shirts to keep them from turning to ice.”

Medics. The baby. “Cordais, today?”

“That beautiful little one? She's very much alive. Her mother may survive, too soon to tell.” His small quivers became full-body shaking he could no longer control. “That's better. I ran a hot bath. Strip off, get in it and soak until it cools too much. I'm going to look for hot food.”

“Are there any clean clothes?”

“It appears so. The world may be ending, but someone did laundry.” She went toward the kitchen, and in a second called back “Hot plomeek soup and pierogies. Spock is still at the hospital, so I blame _sa'mekh'li_ Nick.”

He sank into the water, teeth chattering. She backed into the room with a bowl of soup and a mug of hot tea on a tray that she handed back to him. He gulped half of the tea before he realized how heavily it was laced with sugar. “No arguments. You need the sleep. I'm going to need everybody when we take our one shot. The grands have tried many iterations. Our only chance is to stall the fleet long enough.”


	21. Nick Mestral, Fashion Maven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duct tape can fix darned near anything.

 

“It ain't _my_ fault you can't drive!”

Kirk wasn't sure he was alive and breathing, but he was reasonably sure he was hallucinating because two middle-aged Vulcan men were arguing, in Standard, right across the hall from the bedroom he was in at Sarek's house. The shorter one was cooking, the taller one lurking over his shoulder, and Kirk was definitely hallucinating, because he smelled real coffee.

Taking stock was one of the first techniques the Academy taught. Spock was on the other side of the bed, breathing lightly, deeply relaxed. He was a mess of fresh bruises, a lot of small cuts healing, his left arm bandaged from elbow to wrist. The ghastly gash on his jaw had finally been closed neatly, leaving a brighter green line against the alternating snow and spilled paint of his skin. If his condition were as bad as it looked, Kirk told himself, he'd have been in a hospital or at least on some sort of monitor. There was no thought drifting by him from Spock's direction save a gentle hum of healing. That wasn't as reassuring as he wanted it to be, but it would do.

The report on his own body found bandages and numb spots, right shoulder, chest, side and two in the thigh, plus one odd-feeling scrape on his left bicep that was probably a burn, and the soft focus to his vision and sense of not quite being connected to his body that felt like heavy painkillers. That would explain the arguing Vulcans in old-fashioned Terran clothing. John soft-footed through the propped-open door to check on him. “Good morning, sunshine.” He eased Kirk up to sit and stuffed a mug of real black coffee into his free hand. “I'm babysitting wounded humans and hybrids until Nyota gets back from fixing the radio net.” The big man ran a hand lightly across his back, staring off in the way Kirk had learned meant a medic's brain was too busy processing the input from his fingertips. “That's better. That one right here was a real mess, but you're clearing right up now that you got some sleep for a change.”

“Twelve or fourteen hours' worth.” The fog began to lift as the coffee soaked in. “Ru?”

“Other than scaring hell out of us when we nearly lost him three times that night, as long as Judy keeps him tied down for a week he should get over losing three-quarters of his blood, half his liver and half a lung. You done good. Davy's here in the kitchen. How that boy lived to be this old...”

“We all needed you during that fight. How many did we lose, John?” It was “we” and Kirk realized he would understand that.

“Eleven. Eight Vulcans DOA, two Klingons, and that young man the day after the battle. Two hundred seriously wounded, five hundred lightly if they admit it. Only two critical now. If Judy hadn't been there, we'd have lost at least twelve more.”

He eased himself onto the bench by the table. “You're not only a civilian medic. You've been in hand to hand combat before.”

“Several times. I was a medic then, too.” He let something through; did Kirk see it right?

“In the far past. On Terra.”

“Yes. In two different wars, trying to fix things.” His dark eyes were as haunted as Sarek's for a moment, then he took the edge off with a tiny smile. “I got myself hurt there, too, and Nick had to get me out of it. We sit in the Carbon Creek Veterans of Foreign Wars and have a beer when it gets too much, and they understand. How foreign the wars have been doesn't matter. A fight is a fight.”

“I would think it would be too emotional.”

Nick shook his head as he stirred a large pot that smelled good. “You have to know coal miners. I can't remember them getting sentimental over their wives and kids, but I can't count the times they showed up when they were needed. You know they like you if they give you a terrible nickname and swear at you. They don't say a lot. They're just _there_. It wasn't Vulcan. It was how I wish Vulcan was.”

“Maybe now it can be.” Kirk tried to stretch. It wasn't a good idea.

John leaned over his back. “May I?” His light touch was a pleasant shock; when he began to seek out the aching points, it was bliss. “Can't let you suffer needlessly. Lia won't like it.”

“I keep hearing about what Admiral T'Lia won't like. Should I be concerned?”

“Yes and no. You no doubt know she's de facto commander of Vulcan military force, and she's one hell of a pilot, but mostly she's just...Lia. Our cute little granddaughter.” He felt John chuckle.

“...make sure that's arranged. The unloading is complete, correct? As soon as it is. Yes.” The overheard Vulcan coming down the hall was as sharp and clipped as Klingon battle language. “Immediately. And that. Yes. Unnecessary. Have them work on the hospital instead. Divert that. Load 3457-B at that site and the A section needs to be delivered as soon as it lands. The heating is crucial.” A tall blue-clad back swept by him to the coffee pot, trailing the full force of an enormous personality. She took the mug Nick held out and began to turn around. By instinct, he got to his feet, fumbling with the ta'al. She might have moved without touching the floor, so smooth was her gait toward him. “James, son of George, son of Peter,” she intoned. “Welcome to the House of Surak.”

He looked up into the face of Daise'Khre'Riov T'Areinnye.

“Sorry about that,” a woman's voice said as her hands picked him up off the floor. “Bad grandpas! Bad! Nobody told the poor thing. Wait a minute right there while I get this makeup off and these contacts out.” She parked him on the bench and went away for a minute. He blinked, wondering how his mind had come up with that particular hallucination, but no one else seemed surprised, and being Vulcan wasn't an excuse for _v'tosh ka'tur_. It appeared to be, in whatever bizarre timeline had exploded, perfectly normal for despotic Romulan dictators to drop by the kitchen for coffee.

He heard water running in the human bathroom sink, and in a moment a Vulcan woman emerged with her long dark hair loose over her shoulders. The blue garment she proved to be wearing was not the sort of ceremonial splendor he had expected. It was a ratty, fuzzy blue bathrobe, and the top of it wasn't closed very well over a not at all unattractive chest. When had he reverted to junior high? Before he could stutter the greeting, the majesty dropped away and he was facing a middle-aged woman who looked a whole lot like Sarek and whose warm hazel eyes radiated friendly mischief. “I know who you are, Jim. Pfft!--the look on your _face_!”

“Got him good. You're still terrifying,” John said.

“You win. You said if I wore the robe I'd have to remind him my eyes are up here.” She gathered the robe and went across the hall, bent over Spock for a second, touched his forehead lightly and came back. “He really is all right now, just sleeping.”

Unease returned, with shame. “I'm sorry, we didn't manage—the way Ru--”

She held up a hand. “War is war, people get hurt, we get it. He's doing _much_ better, Davy brought him home and put him to bed here, but he can't get up because Judy crashed and he doesn't want to wake her. I also need to put some more clothes on because this is bothering you and you're too polite to say it.” He heard the rest of her sentence: _and you're so damn cute I might take you up on it._

It took her less than five minutes to come back dressed in an impeccable gray tunic, black pants and boots with silver flight wings and numerous medals pinned to the chest. She wore command the way she wore the clothes. Her epaulets...Kirk thought, too loudly, _I can't hit on an_ _Ek'halitra-lan. I didn't even know Vulcan had one of those_.

“Until recently, I think most Vulcans would have been as surprised as you that we _have_ a fleet admiral. Call me Lia. You'll know when the time comes to pay attention to these.” She tapped an epaulet. “Not for a few days, I hope. That fight was all we could handle and then some. If only my crazy nephews would stop trying to solve the whole problem themselves, and if only my equally crazy brother would stop trying to rescue the entire universe.”

“I think these past few days he only wanted to rescue one particular part of it.”

“No wonder Sarek likes you.” She rolled her eyes at something on her padd, sipped her coffee and tapped out a reply all in one motion. “He's asleep, finally. Davy's with him to keep his nightmares down to a dull roar. We all have to get what rest we can while we can and the wounded really need to.”

“That sounds less than optimistic.”

“You're a military man, Jim—it's all right to call you that, correct? You'll understand this.” She pushed the padd toward him.

He stared at it for a long while, trying to form an answer. The only thin words that escaped were “Holy crap.”

 

“Well. That's an interesting emergency.” Judy laid down her padd and ran her fingers through her hair, stretching as much as she could.

“At the moment, 'interesting' is not a word anyone wants to hear. Will my help be needed?”

“Someone's will be, but hoo boy, I'm not sure who to ask. That young couple who were brave enough to come up and ask me questions during sex education?”

“Er, yes.”

“It's a good thing they learned, because it's high time they got married...and then some. They said to go ahead and tell anyone who asks so we'll know why they aren't on duty because, get this, they're not embarrassed. They win already. I gave him some meds but they'll only last a couple of hours, poor thing. I haven't married anybody in years, since med school. I'm allowed, but...they always go to Vulcan if they can, and that's not an option. T'Lar can't come here that fast even if we had a safe enough place. It's got to be me, and I might have to do laundry so I have clean scrubs at least.”

“Laundry we got,” Nick said as he came around the corner, “but jeez, scrubs for a wedding? What's he wearing, or her?”

“What they have.” She smacked her forehead. “Oh. Do you have a better idea?”

“Eh, go study your stuff and I'll work on it.”

Sarek watched her for a moment. “Judy...” he shifted his eyes toward his quarters.

She followed him, her mind one great question. He opened the closet on the right side, the one that didn't have his robes, and took down the package with the blue gown and gold wrap before his nerve failed him. “You look as if these might fit, and they'd be much more suitable and traditional.”

“Oh...” She knew, of course; she'd seen Amanda in those clothes. “Are you sure?”

“I can't imagine she'd mind. The other things, while I'm gone, Silek or the aides may dispose of, but I couldn't let go of that no matter how senseless it is. The shoes she always wore are with it.”

“That's not senseless, it's perfect.”

“Judy. How tall is she?” Nick yelled from the room he and John shared.

“About my height, why?”

“Spock, go get the gold duct tape. Kirk, stapler, now.”

It was all Sarek could do to keep a straight face. Judy didn't try. “Do we want to know?”

“No. No, we don't. You'd better hurry and get dressed, hadn't you?”

“Get dressed for what?” Lia had blazed through the house again, as a Vulcan this time.

“Emergency wedding at the hospital,” Nick said from his room. “Got any scissors?”

“You look stunning. Here.” She flipped her wrist to snap out her knife. “I'll show up armed so there are no challenges. Who gets to hold the axe?”

“Kirk,” Sarek said, “there are a few things about Vulcan weddings you should know...”

 

The wedding made the least sense of anything yet, but Kirk had to admit it was entertaining. Two friends half-carried the groom in from the ward where he'd been working, looking sick as a dog and dripping sweat in a way he hadn't seen a Vulcan manage. Emotions poured off him in greater volume, mostly lust but also what Kirk realized was hope. It wasn't even small; it was over the top, glorious hope soused in love for his bondmate, who he fully intended to jump the instant she came into view because his testosterone brain was taking over in spite of the blazing fever and pounding heart that were all too evident. One of the nurses brought him more medication, for which he whispered thanks. “I had no idea,” he said to Davy. “Is it always that bad?”

“Like her presentation said, guys die from this. He waited to finish his shift and he shouldn't have. They used to lose hundreds every year because they got caught where they couldn't get to their wives.” He gargled half a glass of water. “Get my voice going here. I had to rewrite the wedding song in a hurry because some of the old words don't fit now, and the music, all we got is my guitar, two ka'ithara and a gong we made out of a chunk of Klingon ship.”

Most of the patients were well enough to sit up and watch. Even the Romulan subcommander, who wasn't doing at all well, had asked John to prop her up for a little while. “Davy. Where should we go?” Kharr had brought his surviving men with all their dress weaponry.

“You stand over by that young man who looks like he's about to die. Keep him from doing anything he won't regret later and don't let anybody challenge. Soon as Judy gives the word, you hustle him and the new Mrs. off to the hotel and don't let him take too many clothes off till he gets there.”

Spock wasn't moving very fast, but Nyota had him properly assembled and carrying Davy's spare ka'ithara. John, Nick and Sarek all arrived in ambassadorial splendor. “Just so nobody shoots at us this time,” Nick said.

“They'd better not. They might damage the harp.” Sarek checked the tuning on Spock's so he wouldn't have to move his arm too much, then they struck up some imitation bells.

“...seriously, I left extra in the room for him, make sure he uses it every four hours to keep that fever down. He shouldn't have waited so long,” Judy was saying to someone. She looked stunning in a gracefully draped blue dress with a gold shawl around her head and shoulders. “Is his mother...?”

“No, no one from his side.”

“I'll stand in for him if you like,” Lia said.

The bride nodded. She looked around at the assembled crowd. “If only our parents could have seen this. Three ambassadors, an admiral, Starfleet officers...”

“And one fashion designer. Go put your dress on so he can rip it off.” Nick handed her something gold and white. The bride dove behind a curtain at the end of the ward and emerged, half a minute later, in a lovely pleated tunic with gold trim. “I hope the duct tape on the shoulders holds long enough for Judy to say her piece. That's all that sticks the whole thing together.”

Kirk stared. “How did you manage to make that?”

“Guessing. Maggie had a nightgown like that. I threw pleats in a chunk of the thin Tyvek we had stuff wrapped in and taped them down. It needed the pleats so it wasn't see-through.”

“Is there anything you _can't_ do?”

“Too many things, but coming up with a rip-it-off nightgown ain't one of them.”

Judy made her formal entrance to the aisle between the rows of beds. The bride came in accompanied by the young ShiKahri sniper, who was the only relative left on her mother's side. The groom's friends hauled him forward, one of them escorting Lia. She held the Klingon ship piece so the groom could make a dazed swipe at it with a rubber mallet. Nothing much happened, nor should have, so he hit it again and staggered back. “Kal-if-fee! What you are about to see is Vulcan's heart, Vulcan's soul,” Judy said. “So it has been from the time of the Beginning, so it will always be. Is the groom able to speak?”

He hit the gong the third time. “I am.”

“Voran cha' Torik cha'Soran of the clan of Suvok, your friends are?”

“Kuvon and Horek. With all my thanks. They endure much.”

There was a ripple of approval because he had managed to get a coherent sentence out. Judy turned to Lia. “T'Lia cha'T'Lar cha'T'Pau, is it with your approval that these two are bonded?”

“It is. May they live long and prosper.”

She looked to the bride. “T'Chaya cha'T'Rhai cha'T'Sala, is Voran your chosen bondmate?”

“He is.” She bowed her head for Judy to meld with her, and the groom, after a wobbly moment, did the same. She appeared to be gauging something. After a minute or two she raised her head.

“I declare the two of you to be bonded. Pon farr!” She waved to the groom's friends. “You might want to take him in there first, just in case.” She muttered something to the bride, who nodded. “Well, okay, after all, I'm a doctor...” They all trooped off to the Klingons' transport out in front of the hospital and were hauled away.

“Judy went with them because...?” Kirk asked.

John tried to look saintly. “One of a priestess' prime duties is to witness the consummation of the marriage. Sometimes the entire wedding party witnesses it inadvertently. The two of them wanted to be strictly traditional. Believe me, if she's not back in ten minutes something went wrong.”

Nyota wiped her eyes. “Sorry. I always happy-cry at weddings.”

“The way Vulcans feel about it, that's good luck,” Lia said. “As much as we're supposed to admit we believe in any such thing. We're supposed to say it's a real gift when a friend cries at a wedding, to take away any sorrow that could otherwise happen to the couple.”

Spock had been playing and let the music die down. “Cotton,” he said, “it should be cotton.”

“But Nick's design.” Nyota sat beside him. “That really old pattern from my mother's side, you think, like that? You could have the dashiki to match.”

Sarek was still idly playing. Kirk felt his amusement. _There's time now, but yes_.


	22. From The Mountains Of Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sarek find out that he has a lot to feel guilty about, but so does Lia.

Waking with a scream half cut off in his throat was not going to happen again. Let them assume he was remembering va'Pak, not...He rolled out of bed and threw on clothing to get away from the idea of sleep, then fled to the kitchen where his sister was beside the coffeemaker.

“Like I said, I know.” She didn't turn to face him. “You got your hand caught in the blankets.”

He forced it back into the tight compartment where it belonged. Let the grief for Amanda take over, let it crush him to the ground, let it kill him, but  _ that _ could never come out again. “It was...”

“I knew how bad it was when you said you were going to ride John's Harley down the coast that day. There were easier ways.”

 _She's talking about easy ways as if I cared?_ “It wouldn't have taken long.”

She handed him a mug and shoved him into a seat. “You were going to make that long trip over the mountains with the fever starting.”

“Death Valley seemed apropos.”  _ No water, searing heat, wild animals, home. The perfect place to wait for daylight and make a run into the July valley's blazing sun. If he stayed in Frisco in the shade and the too-cool rooms, the fever would take days to kill him cruelly. The desert would be kinder, even if it wasn't his own. Surely his own no longer wanted him. After that, who ever would? Amanda could never know. If he went too fast and laid the bike down, it would be quick. If he drove until it wouldn't go and lay down on the sand, that would take a few hours. _

_Except he had stopped at a signal and she had caught up with him at the curb and when he pulled over to be polite and talk she said she had nothing to do over the weekend and hoped he wouldn't mind spending it with her. Had she seen the way in, when some door was ajar? “If you need me in that way,” she had said, “I'm here.”_

_He had tried to warn her that sex with a Vulcan was never casual, but she said casual wasn't what she had in mind at all, the rest of their lives would do, and she got on the back of the bike and locked her arms around his waist and they never made it past a blanket under a pier in Monterey._

“I'm alive because a girl got on the back of my Harley,” he said.

“She was such a good woman. I never thought anyone could out-Vulcan T'Pau. Ha. It wasn't even close to a fair fight.”

_ And the fever went higher and there was nothing to put it out but Amanda and she understood who knew how she had found out and when he could get up from that first frantic wrestling she took him to the edge of the water under the deserted pier, and took him in the surf where the cool salt sea kept some bare edge of consciousness against the fire. He tried not to bond with her, not to let her see, but even though her body was not strong, her vibrant uncontrolled psi was stronger than his own as she leaned over him, claimed and claiming.  _ _**Tell me. Let me see. I want all of you. Let me know that too. You are not theirs. You were never theirs. You are mine and that is not allowed to hurt you.** _ _ When she got near that, he wanted to panic, but she had him too lost on the edge of forever to shut the door again, and she saw all of it and did not go away, not then, not until the world melted under her. _

Beyond the bright burning where she had been torn away, where she had hidden it for him, it was still there. “I let my commander be captured, Lia.”

“She knew the risk.”

“But I'm still alive. And even before, when Stor was killed--”

“You were the first to be hit because you jumped in front of him. You did your job. Security didn't. It was the same with Rea. If security wanted to give the illusion of protecting her, let alone you, they did a damnably poor job.” Lia looked back at him, obviously uncomfortable. “I have to tell you something,and it's going to hurt. Badly.”

Was there anything left after the past few months? Maybe Lia didn't quite grasp the situation as it had been. “ _Rha_? I assure you that won't be a novelty.”

_Rea had been older, a widow, a good match in many ways. When the fever began, she knew how to handle it, and him, and did, without passion but not without kindness. Afterward, he could be in Rea's company for months and never have the wish cross his mind, nor did she request it of him. They worked together, he bringing her whatever papers she needed, standing by as she did his father's old job, the delicate negotiations, the endless receptions. His purpose was to look solemn and attractive and play stolid but appropriate music when the diplomats requested it. Boredom would have been an emotion, illogical when any number of young men would have been ready to stand as the Chief Ambassador's consort._

_The base was supposed to be secure. Their own guards were supposed to be watching. No one was. At least, no one was who cared to do anything about it._ He rubbed his hands and tucked them into his sleeves, knowing Lia was watching. “You wonder why they didn't cut them off? It was more entertaining to break them one bone at a time.”

“Rea's name wasn't Rea. She was a Romulan plant and her name was Areinnye.”

He was sitting down. That was good. He thought he hadn't shown emotion. That was good. His sister was telling him wild stories, and that was ridiculous. “Before I worked with her I knew--”

“Think about it. You knew her when you were a child. She went away. When you went to the research station you were a young man. She was different, but you chalked it up to time.” Lia leaned on the edge of the counter with her back turned. “I can't stand having you blame yourself one more minute. I can't have you thinking you failed when all of us failed you.”

“But...how?”

“Rea, the actual Rea that we knew casually, went to the research station on Delta Vega. How did you excuse not feeling anything through the bond?”

“I was young. It wasn't a...” No, he couldn't say the word even to Lia. Love wasn't supposed to exist. “It was a practical matter.”

“It was a marriage of convenience, yes. Her being able to assume the ambassadorship was very, _very_ convenient at the time. Her lack of emotion was ever so commendable. Women of that age were quite often brought up with little or no education in mental matters, and Rea was the only survivor of her family after the Syrannite wars, so it wasn't odd for her to have no connections. You were too young and too much of a mess to have any idea, and she looked like a perfect match, didn't she?”

Too perfect, if anything. Utterly pacifist, pleasing to Father. Utterly logical, pleasing to Mother. Shielded from all intruding thoughts, gentle on his mind. “What happened to the real Rea?”

“She disappeared. It is possible that her remains are some of those Prime found on Delta Vega, but the analyses were never completed before va'Pak. I can tell you that I was able to view the records, and it appears that Areinnye—the Rea you knew—disposed of her so.”

Knew? As Amanda would have said, Biblically. The dazed, frantic days at the station had been his problem, not hers. It was clear that they meant nothing whatsoever to her, and her mind was closed to him. Even when he was in full contact with her, there was nothing.

There should have been _something_.

There should have been the sense of shielding, of a mind held back, of a bond not full and not granted. There hadn't been. How could he have missed it?

“At the time,” Lia said, still staring down at the counter, “how could you notice? Afterward, you didn't share quarters with her, and no one thought that was unusual. Mother thought it commendable.”

“No one else knew?” He already knew the answer to that: no, they hadn't. Kohlinahri quite often had no psychic shadow, no sense of a mind at work.

So did psi-null Romulans. “It wasn't until later that I was sure. I thought Rea herself was a traitor. At the time, you know how everything was: the civil war was supposed to be over, but the whole mess of undercurrents still swirled just below the surface. She made sure you got caught at the station without a way home even from that far away. She couldn't take the chance that T'Pau would find out there was no real bond beyond your constant reaching for her. You know the law: if the couple says it happened more than a week before, it did. You already know the rest of what I'm going to tell you.”

“He's not mine. I did know that. After all, she was--”

“She wasn't tortured in any way.”

No, he hadn't known that. “Impossible.”

“How often did you see her during the event?”

“I--” Did not see her. There had been screams. Whose? There had been the sounds Hakeev made in pleasure. At whose expense? There had been descriptions of what happened. After the rescue, there had been a stunned and shaking Rea led away, and Lharrie carrying him out of the prison, but...but Rea was able to walk. Why were her broken feet...

“They weren't. She never let any of us see her afterward. She asked to be taken straight to Gol.”

“Were they involved?”

“Uncertain. Wanting is illogical, but I so want to think the answer is 'no.' Too many are gone. The only survivors happened to be at the Council of Elders, and not all deigned to go there.”

“She looked...” Yes, there had been an expression on her face. Devastation? No. Surprise. In that circumstance, no Vulcan would insist on intruding on another's thoughts, even if it were possible. Anyone might look surprised if she hadn't been expecting a commando raid. “But she was--”

“She was Hakeev's lover. Had been for years. The Tal Shiar personnel files are quite clear on that point, because he had to be informed when she decided to mate with you. Why do you think Sybok went mad when he accessed her katra? It wasn't anything he expected.”

“How long have you known?”

“For certain, only within the last six months when I was dealing with Hakeev on a daily basis, and by 'dealing with' I mean 'defending us from.' I was going to tell you when everything was done, but then va'Pak...The key, what we all missed, was her _fall_ at her Kolinahr ceremony. I might be tempted to jump off the Bridge of Sighs too if I knew I was made. On the other hand, I might be stubborn and stupid enough to try to bluff my way through it and get caught, and we know what the penalty is.”

“Normally not so direct. But I felt something, the bond...” Once again, his reaching for her. His wanting to know that even on Gol where nothing was supposed to matter, she was all right. He had felt that tenuous thread snap. “Someone was suffering in that next room.”

“Several. Just not her.” She dropped her head into her hands. “If it helps, you're a damn _legend_ on the Romulan side. They threw everything at you, and they got nothing from you.”

“The question is what they got from you when you found out.”

“What you would expect. Leroy, I went crazy.” She mopped her sleeve across her eyes. “Okay, S'chnT'gai crazy. She had an identity on the Romulan side. Fine, I had it. Because Vulcan was such a closed book to them, they didn't know she was dead...and you have to admit, she did look a lot like us. A few small changes, a few very good shields, and they had no idea. No, I never slept with him. That was the one thing. I never slept with anybody but Lharrie, not negotiable, ever. I made excuses. I broke it off with him, claimed the baby had changed me, and so. As far as anyone knew, Arenniye's scar was from that little interlude, her diligent efforts to do her best, don't you know.”

The silence roared between them. _Don't turn around, Lia, please don't turn around_...”That would explain the assassinations. And everything after them.”

“No one will ever insist we go to meetings unarmed again.” She wasn't even unarmed in the house; her desert knife was in her boot and her fighting blade was strapped to the inside of her forearm.

“So how are you handling all of this?”

“Just barely keeping it together, thank you, and I don't have Trellium-D for an excuse. I had to tell you now, _Sa'kai'kam._ Between the Immeasurable and the inevitable sequel, our endangered species may be all but extinct in the next week or so.the two of us, most certainly, included.”

“The thought had occurred.”

“We're on the same page, then.” She looked at the screen again with a low whistle. “That is remarkable speed from the rest of the Romulan fleet. I'm impressed. We did a slingshot to get here, worrying the whole while that we'd damage the timeline even more. John and Nick worked on a historical remedy we can only hope succeeded, or the rest may be irreparable. Admiral Gorkon is in place with three warbirds. T'Ael, that unbelievably brave soul, is still standing guard the best she can with half a ship and a flock of little destroyers that can be seen. The rest, well, you're aware of the timing issues. As for the Federation, Admiral Roskov is taking the matter under advisement.”

“ _yIntagh_. And against them...?”

“Oh, just my Fourth Fleet. Tal Shiar has its usual doubts about the Madmiral's politics, so they sent their--” she paused, dropping the pretense. “Sarek, it's Hakeev. He's here.”

He must have made some sound. He hadn't wanted to.

Lia put aside the screen and looked down at him, fist over her upper chest, the ancient way to take an oath. “They hear me. I will never let anyone take you prisoner again. I'll shoot you myself before I'll let that happen.”

“That's the safest I've felt since all of this happened, Lia.”

“Never going to happen again, no matter what. I already visited the subcommander and gave her a medal she can have sent home with her body. Now I need to go be a Vulcan admiral, find Davy and the fugitive grandfathers and see what they've managed.”

“All three are at the hospital. Davy is doing what he does. He naively thought I could handle sleeping on my own for an hour or two. Solkar is doing what he can for the patients until I relieve him and Nick is most likely either handing out food or shaking his head and saying 'Bozhe moi!' over and over.” He looked down at the screen. “That is...an _interesting_ roster of ship names.”

“We thought it would be entertaining if we're around afterward to hear some newscaster try to get through the rest of those with a straight face. If not, it's still a glorious thought.”

“The _Federation Promise_ , among them all?”

“You'll understand that one soon enough.” The way she smiled hinted that he might like it, but the other side wouldn't. “I need some way to lock Hakeev out of the weapons system. He's come along, as is his Tal Shiar right—you notice he didn't come down to see his own subcommander who used to be his lover, too messy I suppose.” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged at her. “I have master control over the Fourth Fleet's weapons. No ship can fire on any other unless I release control to the captains. The probem is that if there's a Tal Shiar high officer, or in this case _another_ , he or she has an override code that can overpower the fleet admiral's and self-destruct everything. That we have to... _obtain_...before he can use it, which may take some doing. To do the job correctly, I need his watch code and his personal code. The watch code would be the same for all of his operatives throughout the Empire. His personal code...that's the real trick. He doesn't even speak to me since I did a couple of things that caused a bit of damage to his reputation, sterling as _that_ was. Think about it, will you? I'd better go wander around town and look important and inspiring while everyone is stripping that bird of prey, then I need to get back upstairs and do the same thing there with all the trappings of serious insanity.” Two guards who looked like walking arms dealers fell into step with her at the door.


	23. The Sands of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farewells are not always terrible, but they're more than anyone needs. (TW: death.)
> 
> By the way, Nick is getting upset in Serbian, whether he realizes it or not. Trellium-D is really doing a number on them all.
> 
> "Whiskey In The Jar" is a very old Irish song with varying lyrics. Sometimes Captain Farrell gets shot, sometimes Jenny, or in the Metallica cover Molly, messes with the ammo, sometimes the thief has a brother who can help, sometimes not. The version here is a common one that happened to fit well.

The shifting sands of time were almost palpable in the pale edge of that morning; whether it was the number of warships warping in too near the system or some other force at work, Sarek found himself reaching for items that were at hand, looking at a chart that had been completed and decrypting a message that was in the clear in front of him. Silek, in Dubai--had he been there or in Las Vegas a moment before?--said the puppies were about to arrive and all was going well.

The shift was tiny, a matter of four-tenths of a second, but it was there. He tried to meditate for a few minutes before he checked the hospital, but it wouldn't work, between what Lia had said and the unsettling drift. The walk didn't clear his head as much as he hoped, either. Closer than the skies, there was a terrible struggle. It didn't take him long to find it.

“ _O Bozye, to nye valje_ ,” Nick was sighing, calling John so hard that he might as well have been shouting: _Janko, khitno jye!_ “Get in there, Sarek. The subcommander needs you.”

She needed John, but that was beside the point. Davy was holding her half-upright so she could breathe, looking at the instruments, shaking his head ever so slightly. Lia skidded in. “Mijne, I'm here.”

“I did all I could...” with all the breath she had in the depths of the fever. It spiked all around her now, nothing left intact, burning all through within her, and all he could do was smooth the edges.

“More than anyone could ask, Mij, no one will see now who can hurt your people. Can I tell my little brother about you? He won't need you to talk.” There was agreement. “Mijne realized what Hakeev was up to and came to me. She knows who I really am.” That alone was an incalculable gift on the Romulan side of the Zone; a real identity was the last great gift of a friend or even a spouse. “If we get away with this, it's because of her. She did what I wouldn't, longer than anyone could be asked to put up with him, and all she asks is for us to remember. If we get through, no one will ever forget her.”

“You...could...make me...a...captain,” Mijne wheezed. The last light in her eyes tried to sparkle.

“I brevetted you commodore and signed his name to it,” Lia said. “Nobody will dare cross your family now, and they'll have your pension and protection. Also, certain inquiries and offers will be made, and if they ever do need to get out of there, there'll be an immediate extraction. Your mother and sister will be as safe as my own clan here on New Vulcan.”

She looked sidewise at Lia, her voice a whisper: “Did I bet right on you or what?”

“I got the best end of this. I got to know you.”

“If I get to Vorta Vor...not likely but if...I'll fix John up...he'll need a good woman.”

John skidded through the door, arms out to her. “Is it bad, princess?” He met Sarek's eyes for that fraction and knew, if he hadn't already. He lifted her from the bed, head on his shoulder, and carried her to the window. “Look out there, not in here. The desert is better than this room.”

“My home is in the stars,” she murmured. “They're still up there. Take me outside?”

“Yes.” John walked out the back door with her. “Nothing between you and there now.”

Sarek felt the ties to her body sliding off, like knots untying. He had done a lot of trying to tighten them for patients; now, with his heart in his throat, he helped them slide free. The way John was holding her gave her all the ease she could have, the outside air all the comfort that could be, and Lia held her hand. She looked up, at the stars or John's face, he wasn't sure which, sighed “ _Ouye, idh'ouye_ ”--beautiful, so beautiful--and was gone.

For that second after, he heard John think about calling a code. The universal _No_ around him soaked through, and he closed his eyes and caught the morning light on his face. His lips moved silently. Lia looked back at the rest of them. “We'll take care of her.”

“If not, I'll be here,” Nick said.

John didn't move. “Aren't you always?”

The rest of them began to file back into the hospital. Spock lingered, his expression unreadable, until Sarek knelt to press his hands to the sand as John had taught him: ground the energy before anything else. “You had best speak your mind.”

“She wasn't afraid.” Of all it could have been, he hadn't expected that.

“No. As death goes, that was the best she could hope for. She was prepared.”

“Not only that. You did what helped.”

“I tried. I can do no less now.” _Show me that which bothers you_. Spock heard and touched his face, giving him the image of Captain Pike dying. Surprise, fear, denial, frustration; not unusual considering, and then there was the screaming mass of va'Pak. “It isn't always like that. It rarely is. Most of the time, beyond the battlefield, it's like this.”

“I feared I was becoming a coward,” he said, as flatly as any good Vulcan. “And when Jim died, I was of no help whatsoever.”

Sarek held his hands under the disinfecting light. “Hardly. You should ask him. I believe the baby is needing fed. One of us should do that.”

 

Kirk moved Davy's spare guitar from the couch and slid down onto the seat, followed by Spock, who drew a diagram and sent it before he crumpled. “This has been an interesting day.”.

Sarek picked up the guitar, which seemed to be slightly out of tune. “Not fascinating?”

“More like a train wreck,” Kirk sighed, leaning back. “The weapons systems are on line again, but the Klingons are helping a few of ours try to salvage more pieces from the destroyer to see if we can get a power boost when we need it.”

He watched Sarek investigate the guitar and turn it so the trebles were on the side he was accustomed to for the harp. He had as much of Spock's attention as he could spare when he started playing. Between sketches and consultations, his son began: “As I was riding over the Cork and Kerry mountains...”

“I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting.”

Ru eased around the corner and carefully lay down on the bench along the wall. The effort nearly sapped his breath, but he sang in what was left of his voice: “I first produced my pistol, and then produced my rapier...”

“Said 'Stand and deliver, or the devil he may take you.'” The chorus was mostly nonsense. “There's whiskey in the jar.”

“I went up to my chamber, all for to take a slumber...”

“I dreamt of gold and jewels, and for sure it was no wonder,” Ru whispered.

“But Jenny drew my charges and filled them up with water, then called for Captain Farrell to make ready for the slaughter...” Kirk muttered “That might work.”

“The only help I'll have will be my brother in the army--” He heard Sarek think _Wait. Possibly so_. Hope might be irrational, but he was no longer entirely rational either.

“Davy's right,” Kirk said. “Music helps you think.”

“Silek,” Spock said. “If the codes can be broken, whoever was at the Embassy.”

Sarek picked up his padd and made a quick message to Silek. It wouldn't go out immediately, not until the hourly packet, but it might get his attention.

John stamped in, breathing hard and slinging his Pittsburgh paramedic jacket on the floor. His eyes had a wild light and he snatched the guitar out of Sarek's hands. For a moment Kirk thought he was about to smash it, but he merely flicked a thumb across the strings to check the tuning and ripped into an unfamiliar song played with what sounded like all the rage in his soul, all but screaming the lyrics, then handed the guitar back. “Excuse me. It seemed like a very good substitute for ripping something to shreds with my bare hands.”

Sarek turned it over again. “Any song that contains the line 'I want to see the sun blotted out from the sky' is a good one for the moment.”

“We took care of it, but it's a miserable damned waste. Nothing worked, the damn sepsis got her.” He rubbed the back of his neck and paced a quick loop in the hallway. _So that's where Spock gets that._ “We expected it, but _fvadt_!--I'm...going outside for...a while.”


	24. Shields Are Shaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of the shields is holding well.

As the day after Mijne dwindled to night, the feathery snow continued, laying soft drifts across the desert. The shields inhaled power, from the sun and from the stray bolts that popped against them. There seemed to be a lot of long-range inaccurate sniping going on between some Romulan vessels and the Klingons, without much effect if the news feed was to be believed.

Most of the patients at the hospital were improving enough to let the extra staff goback to their old duties,where they kept working even though they couldn't sit down without falling asleep. Kirk's morning target practice didn't work well because anyone trying to fire prone dozed off in the snow. All that somber day, time itself seemed faintly out of focus. “Four-tenths of a second,” Nick said as he dished out dinner. “Any more than that and it got messy.”

“Messy?” Kirk asked, not sure how anything could get messier.

“The twelve-dimensional Lovecraftian horror was really hard to get out of my garage in Carbon Creek. We think it ate John's motorcycle and briefly achieved sentience. That got taken care of, but the small things—for instance,” he listened to the distant target practice, “Nyota, let him have the last chocolate chip cookie.”

Her fingers were halfway to the last one on the platter, but she straightened up. “Oh?” A stray shot cracked the window, flew across under her nose and embedded itself in the opposite wall. “I _see_.”

“Yeah. That was an especially bad one since it took out both you and Spock at once.” In the distance, someone shouted at the errant shooter. “There will be more and more of those, and the one apparently totally ridiculous thing that had to happen—here, we can at least die warm. I gave my neighbor George a couple and finally quit tripping over the box of these in the garage.” He opened a large old cardboard box and tossed Kirk a black fleece jacket. The left chest bore a white circular logo with three four-pointed stars in blue, yellow and red, underwritten with _NFL Champions Super Bowl XLV_. Spock had already begun to look it up and appeared about to ask. “Yeah, I know, didn't happen, they used to make them ahead and dump the wrong ones, but I keep hoping the timeline will bend the right way. _Where_ was the pass interference call?... Like I say, they're warm.”

He wasn't kidding. The bite in the air subsided greatly once he had another layer on, which meant his healing wounds felt better overall. Uhura stumbled in from shield control, put on a jacket and put another armful of trash on the fire. Most Vulcan homes had a fire pit in the meditation room, but the idea of a fireplace in the living area was Terran. It was also practical at the moment, because no one had anticipated any of New ShiKahr's homes needing heating. The resistance heat built into the origami barracks made them attractive sleeping quarters for a lot of people who wanted to be next door to the hospital. If the colony survived, it would be hard to remember when there was snow on the ground and drifting in the streets. “I need to get back to the comm banks,” she yawned. “I know, plenty of time to sleep, uh, after.”

Kirk knew the expression she had to be getting at. “Grandma used to say 'plenty of time to sleep in the grave.' I'd rather not put it that way either.”

Spock had assigned himself the job of getting the small command dart battle-ready again. He came back from the port carrying a flat box and a strange-looking item that turned out to be a four-color marker. “Ru hasn't cleaned under the seats on his bridge for some time, I would say.” He showed them the box and was about to toss it into the fire: Stella's Pizza.

“Hold up.” Nick grabbed the box and opened it. There was still a dried-up crust inside. “Ha. Now this we can all use. Be right back.” He went off to the building across the side street and returned in a minute or so. “That may have a better effect than we can imagine.”

“Timeline alteration?”

“No, I checked, won't do a thing for that, but it'll help other ways.”

The marker was a lumpy gray shape with four big buttons on the top. Spock clicked the buttons what Vulcan could have resisted?) and looked it up on his padd. “This appears to have been a promotional item for the latest _Galaxy Quest_ vid.”

“It shouldn't be important,” John said as he came in from the rest of his shift, “but what matters, was from Stella's.” He dropped into a chair to stare at the ceiling, which was most of what he had been doing since the subcommander died. There was something oddly languid about the way he moved.

Sarek had just arrived as well and looked him over. “Are you ill, sa'mekh'li?”

“Not physically. Sick of all this. Best I'm not on Earth. I'd be out on damn bike trying to high-side it.” Spock startled, barely muting the reaction. “Heh. Thought of it too, did you?”

Sarek sat beside him. “When I thought about it, a girl got on the back at exactly the right time.”

“I wouldn't have minded if one particular girl did. It's hard to tell. I know is not logical, you don't have to remind me.” His voice was thick and stiff. “ _To nye valje._..”

“How much?” The flat question made sense to Sarek and all too quickly to Kirk.

“Only what was left when we cleaned all the equipment. I know, I know...” He closed his eyes and leaned back further. For the most part he was speaking Vulcan, but an oddly accented dialect. Kirk saw Uhura try to parse it. “I don't want to think it. If I were age my papers look like, I'm with Shai already. She threatened to find me a match.”

“So did Mijne.”

“Little minx would do it. Shai certainly would.” John yawned.

 

Sarek caught Nick's eye. _Yes, and don't scare the kids. Yes, I 'm going to have to. Be ready_.

 _Davy_! He tried to shout, hoping to come through clearly without having to be obvious about sending a message. His padd quivered a second later with just a question mark. He held it under the edge of the table to reply. _How much was left in Mijne's pain drip when John cleaned it out?_

 _Oh, shit, Leroy, why do you need to—never mind, let me look. It probably won't quite kill him_.

 _Understood_. _That was what I wanted to hear_.

Nick handed John a very large mug of coffee. “Chug that. You and me, we're going for a walk.”

“It's cold out there.”

“Yes. And you're going for a few klicks' walk in it.” He hauled John to his feet and frog-marched him to the door, looking back over his shoulder. “Back when he sobers up a little.”

There was a vast uneasy silence. Ru had come out to lie on the fireplace hearth, where he managed to look crumpled and small. “Not the first time. He shouldn't have been handling that alone.”

 _At least I didn't have to say it._ “It's as much my fault. I knew he was vulnerable.” _And had done it before._ “He's normally a medic for Terrans. Much less temptation.”

“Don't think any less of him,” Ru said. “When you've been where he's been and done what he's done and seen what he's seen...I've known operatives who didn't come back from a lot less.”

“Everyone has limits,” Sarek agreed. “Most strained now.” Kirk and Spock looked so uncomfortable that his skin crawled with the force of it. What he didn't expect was the way Spock's head came up, the sudden revelation in his eyes.

“You didn't want me to go to Starfleet because.” _Of course. It wasn't that I wanted you to follow in my footsteps. I wanted you to follow in the footsteps I left as a distraction_. “Did Mother know?”

“She knew who I really am.” He met Spock's eyes. “I wanted you to have a boring life. Stable. Not at all exciting. Kolinahr, if possible, career advancement without any hint of emotion to upset you. Your genes are a significant handicap in such a lifestyle...especially those you acquired from me.”

“Now he tells me,” Ru chuckled weakly. “Mama Shai's genes should mellow me out.”

“She went on extractions. I didn't know about those until I was fully recruited and sworn.” Was he giving away secrets when the secrets and their planet no longer existed? “What history does not mention about the Black Wave is that most never came back. They pursued, garrisoned, set up their own planetary governments, died of disease, assimilated into Romulan culture...and some got caught. There was always debate over when and whether to mount a rescue effort when a call for help came.”

“So many prisoners have been killed.” Nyota stopped. “They haven't, have they?”

“No. To put it mildly. I'm not privy to all of the details, but what I do know tends to make me believe they'll be reappearing soon. Possibly not soon enough to save us, but soon.”

“After all,” Ru said, “the Air Galactica motto is anything, anywhere... _anytime_.” Spock looked his way, got one of the jackets and unzipped it to cover him so he could curl up under it.

Sarek reached down to straighten it for him and brushed his forehead, getting a jolt of a very bad memory. _I didn't know you were there with them_.

 _I was the one who._ He closed his eyes in the gentle warmth.

Sarek let the hand stay on his forehead, thinking peace at him, feeling his small shiver as he relaxed like a fevered child. _If these memories were bullets.._.

 _Be my guest if you can use it. I had something in mind, but I won't be able_.

Nick and John came back, both ghost-white and John shaking visibly, holding a cloth to his nose. “Is Judy back yet?”

That got his full attention. “She's asleep--” Uhura jumed up and ran to get her while he moved to John. Other than the nose and small injuries, he seemed well enough other than the remaining haze.

“Not me. They're going to need a surgeon. One of the Kohlinahri went crazy and the night guard had to shoot him.”

Nick coughed and rubbed his back. “Got thrown across the street.--On the bright side, if there is one, we're both awake now. The Klingons tried to handle him when they realized he was out of his mind, so John patched them up already. They stunned him three or four times, then one of the Klingons got him with a projectile weapon.”

“What happened to him?”

John leaned on the mantel so he could keep his head down. “A disagreement with his former wife, which became an argument, which became a fight, which nearly became multiple homicide.”

Sarek's fingers told him Nick's main damage seemed to be a hot spot on his jaw which wasn't likely serious, judging by the _Thanks, kid_ when he adjusted it. “Yeah. He had released their bond, of course, but tonight he wanted to move in with her in spite of her having been remarried and his allegedly being devoid of emotion. I never did think much of the idea and I think even less of it now.”

Uhura was looking at her padd, bringing up shield functions and shaking her head over them. “Can any of you tell me what this parameter is doing to Vulcans?”

Spock looked. “That would explain the aberrant behavior that surrounds us. The continued shield impacts are resulting in electrical storming much like that which precedes major earthquakes.”

Nobody wanted to recall the last major earthquakes they'd been around. Judy ran out to jump onto the Klingons' vehicle for a faster ride. Sarek's own flashback was violent enough to make him need to fold his hands and force it back. The earthquakes...the ark...the statue crumbling and falling. No, he didn't want that. Or that. And especially not _that_ and why had he not run to her? If anyone was going to bear that guilt, why did it have to be Spock when it was his own fault?

 _Because you had to get the others out. I went ahead with her because I knew you would have to stay until you had all of the others_.

What he thought back was uncharacteristically blunt, the edge of Amanda coming through about what he thought of the rest of the Council.

Sa'mi, she understood. I was holding her hand. She was afraid, but she understood.

“Important safety tip,” Ru said. “Kirk, you need to know this. You'd have tried to break up that fight, I know you would. It's an Earth thing, you'd see a man hitting a woman and get in the middle. With us, it's really rare and embarrassing to see a family fight, and it's even strength and most women have more psi to hit with, so ordinarily we don't intervene unless it's obvious one is going to get killed. The thing is, if it does get that serious, you're human and you _can't_. When we really get angry, there's no way you'll be able to stop one of us without a phaser on heavy stun and even that might not work.”

“But all he had to do was call Spock's name--”

It wasn't all, but Kirk couldn't have known that. He'd also never know how doubtful Sarek had been that calling to his son would stop the attack. “He's half human,” Ru said quietly. “If you want to talk major advantages, that is one. He can stop himself even when he's furious. We can't. I'm serious as a heart attack. If a full Vulcan snaps, don't get into it unarmed.”

“Or half, if the other half is Cheyenne,” Davy gave a wan smile as he came in. “Ooh, warm stuff and there's even some big enough.” He put a jacket on. “Judy's got it under control down that way, we think, for now. I put a handful of sage on the meditation fire pit down at the hospital in case, because there's some serious bad vibes in the air.”

“Me?” Lia strode in and stared at the apparently uniformed group around her. “Well now. I heard things had deteriorated pretty badly, but that looks remarkably orderly. It also looks like the old Black Wave uniform.” She sorted through, found one that would fit and held it up. “Hmm.” She unpinned her epaulets and put them on the jacket. “That better?”

Those Vulcans who could stand did, and instinctively arranged themselves in a line. Lia walked in front of them and folded her arms before the window glass. She motioned Uhura to stand on her right. “Not bad. Not the Black Wave, but the Steel Curtain. You'd look remarkably like a tiny band of renegades as the house guard for a Romulan traitor.” The moment broke as she turned back to them. “What I came for. Jim, may I have a word with you?” Spock looked at her— _should I be there?_ \--and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. “What I asked Nyota...?” He nodded faintly.

Kirk got up and followed her out. “God help him,” John said.


	25. Oath of Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a Vulcan admiral swears you in, there are very few loopholes.

Lia's two big, impassive Vulcan guards fell in soundlessly behind them while others watched from a distance. She turned to Kirk. “Are you game for a walk tonight, even though it's cold?”

“As long as we don't go too far too fast.”

“I need to keep moving for a little while, and I need to pretend to be useful. You're new to this captain game. Would you mind some unsolicited advice from an admiral about to commit major acts of treason?” She motioned to the guards. “Yes, Arev and Skorr know. Or I should say Taev and Vaebn, when they're wearing their shiny jackets instead of their gray ones. This is Lhairre's brother and his best friend from cradle days. You can speak freely with them.--As I said, conversation with someone who has had a real problem with disobeying orders by the liberal use of loopholes.”

“Why not? I seem to be doing that pretty regularly, even if I don't mean to. If we get out of this, I'll still have a court-martial coming.”

Serious as she had become, that forced a wry little smile. “Have you looked at your commission lately? You might want to check that.”

“I haven't looked at it since I don't know when.” He pulled it up on his padd. Where the UFP logo should have been was the Vulcan Navy's IDIC. “Oh.”

“How else were you going to keep your job when you were so, ah, creative?” She lifted a finger. “My brother fought hard to do that, so remember. That's what I need to talk to you about.”

“Believe me,” he said, his throat going to dust, “I'm listening.”

She moved with her brother's grace, but much more force. He realized he had become used to walking beside Sarek and Spock without thinking about it. As she moved, she talked as no one had ever to him, not even Christopher Pike. She wasn't just blunt, she was Romulan blunt, and she started with honor and went down the whole list of things he had wished he could ask about command. “That sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you say 'Hnah!' and know people will die. You know what the other ships are laid out like, and you know what they'll be doing when the hit comes, but you have to.”

“I tried to save Nero's men.”

“If you'd managed, they knew how to make red matter, and if they were home and didn't volunteer the information, Tal Shiar would have extracted it from them. What you did wasn't much different from putting down an injured animal who cannot live.”

“I was looking at Nero as he died. Spock turned his back on him.”

“We do that. He'd have taken your watching as honor to his courage. He would have understood Spock as well, because he had already proven his own courage and honor.”

The lump in his throat hurt. Yes, he had. “You read those reports, didn't you?”

“I don't know what we could have accomplished had we popped out of the Zone and gone for Vulcan. I got back across with the smallest, fastest runner I have and met Ru in the debris cloud, but there wasn't much we could save. The bigger operation was far more important, and even that had to be accelerated when we realized how dire the military situation was. You saw my map earlier. I concur with your 'Holy crap!' assessment.”

“That was also for those speeds—Warp _fifteen_ in emergency flank?”

“I think you'll like what you see if we can manage this.” They had circled a couple of long blocks and come back to the gate of D'H'Riset. She nodded to the guards, who went into their small gatehouse. “This we talk about alone. Not because I don't trust them, but because they know it's a private matter.”

“O...kay.”

In the empty garden, Lia sat on the new bench and invited him to sit beside her, turning to face him. “Jim. You are a hell of a starship captain if you can keep out of trouble for more than five minutes. That's not necessarily a disqualification for anything we have planned. Nothing about this situation is fair. No one can ever question your courage, and yet, it's one thing to ask a man to die for his own people, and another to ask him to die for his friend's people. I believe the phrase is 'greater love hath no man...'?”

He nodded. “And I believe the phrase on the Vulcan Navy logo is 'I stand ready'.”

She weighed her words and finally spoke. “If you choose not to do this, Nick Mestral will take you back to twenty-first century Carbon Creek to wait a few days, and you can return to whatever is left without question, shame or penalty. It's entirely likely that no one will even know. No--” she forestalled him. “No answer yet. We've talked about how and why I do things, and how and why you make your choices. I'm going to tell you exactly what I propose to do, as far as I have it ready, and you need to hear my explanation before you give me your final answer. If you choose not to, I'll send you in to say your farewells and Nick will take you back. If you want to pray or meditate before you decide, I'll give you a half-hour.”

“With all due respect, _rekkhai_...” And that had come out in Romulan. She had said it or thought it or it had been hanging there, and he had absorbed it.

“No. You don't get it yet. Understand that if you agree, I'll ask you to take one more oath. Also understand that if you accept, there's only one penalty for disobeying the direct order of a superior in my command, and I _will_ enforce it. Now, as for the part of the plan I can reveal...” When she finished, she watched his eyes expectantly. “Do you need time?”

“No, _rekkhai_. I mean, _s'haile_. Sir. Ma'am.”

“That's what Nyota told me as well. All right, then. Turn on your translator. I have to say this in Old High Golic to make it valid, and I want you to understand every word before you agree. The only thing you have to say is 'Ae'i' to both parts, which as your translator will tell you, is not only Romulan but also an old, emphatic, Vulcan naval 'yes.'” She waited for him to make the move.

“All right. I have it.”

“Before any God you serve and will face on the last day; before the souls of your ancestors, whose honor rests with you; as you have been given the details of this mission, which you now guard with your life and soul; will you carry out my orders to the best of your ability, the best of your knowledge and the best of your conscience, trusting that I, your commander, have been truthful with you, am in full possession of my faculties and serve with all my heart and honor?”

Cross Hell on a rotten log with her, while he was at it? “Ae'i.”

“Do you give your word that you will not allow your commander to falter in her duty or fall in battle without you, nor will you falter in your duty toward her nor force her to leave you behind?”

“Ae'i.” He shook his head. “Damn. You all thought of everything.”

“You are hereby commissioned my subcommander, with all the rights and perquisites that entails, such as getting yourself killed if I foul up.”

“Did you ask Spock?”

“Didn't have to. He's my nephew and we are what we are and we understand to start with.” She clapped him on the back. “The oath is like that after too much experience, even to where we left the loopholes in case yours truly goes crazy or turns. Now go let them know. Except for Spock and Nyota, because I hope they're busy.” He knew she was right, because through some tendril of connection he had a gentle sense of lovemaking and carefully averted his mind.

Everyone else looked up when he returned. “That was quick,” Nick remarked.

“I told you.” John's black eyes were fierce with pride. “Does he ever know how to pick 'em.”

Nick conceded the point. “I'd mine coal with him.”

Sarek merely nodded, but Kirk saw the tiny half-smile. He had been waiting for a message, which came across. He turned it to show them all. “From Selik. 'Sugar is well. Seven puppies, all healthy, both brown and spotted.' Look.”

A tumble of fuzzy baby sehlats occupied a room. There were cards with handwritten Vulcan notations behind them on the wall, doubtless names and weights or some such. Through his residual shakes, Kirk smiled. “I think we all needed to see adorable things right now.”

“Indeed.” He couldn't read why Sarek's expression had shifted, but there distinctly was a change he hadn't caused, pride mixed with something that endangered what control he had left. He put the padd down, quite deliberately, with the picture still up. “Admire. I'm going out to meditate.”

There didn't seem to be much to say. Davy worked out a music therapy set list for the evening, then went off to the Great Hall with John, who suddenly seemed to travel in a mist of joy. Ru drifted off to sleep twice and let Sarek take him back to bed. Nick excused himself to work on battlefield cleanup so the port could be used again. For a little while, Kirk was alone in the kitchen, watching footage of the sehlats tumbling over one another and squeaking while their massive mother snuffled and chortled at them. It beat thinking about the oath. _What have you done? Even for you, this is way over the edge_.

Nyota padded down the hallway, testing something on the comm net. “Yes!--that works, finally. I'm going to go take care of the rest of this in person, but we should have full video exchange shortly. I would never have imagined it could work.”

“Nor I.” Spock was fully dressed, but drying his hair with a towel. “If we were around to present it afterwards, it would be an elegant solution to trans-shield communications.”

“Providing there's anyone in Starfleet to present it to.” She glanced at Kirk. “You too?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Welcome to the fleet, Subcommander Kirk. Maybe we'll get some medals we can't show anybody in a ceremony we can't invite anyone to for doing things we can't talk about.” She oz'eshtaed her fingers through Spock's, propped her forehead on them and let herself look as wobbly as Kirk felt. “Join Starfleet. See the galaxy. Meet fascinating new people and get killed by them.”

“Sa'mi left his padd here.” Spock picked it up, looked at the picture and quickly handed it to Nyota. She looked, smiled at the puppies, then was visibly startled.

“What?” Kirk leaned over to look. Fuzzy happy babies, calligraphy, check.

“The cards on the wall. They look like names and weights, but if you can read them I would lay very strong odds that they're actually information we need.”

Spock looked at it again, silently mouthing words. Dates? That made no sense; the puppies were littermates. “I believe Sa'mi is out in the snow trying to regain control because of the handwriting.” He set the padd down almost reverently. “I do not wish to pretend I am not touched.”

“What?”

“History has changed. In this damaged timeline, an assassination long before my birth should never have happened. We lost perhaps the finest cryptographer Vulcan ever produced, which lost our ability to prevent several problems that occurred later and directly affected the present situation in a way that made it the actual _Kobayashi Maru_. They thought a certain very small change might prevent that damage.” To Kirk's absolute shock, Spock reached over the back of the bench and around him so he could hold the padd closer and enlarge the signs in the background. Leaning into him was not unpleasant, but what startled him was the utter naturalness of it. It had been before and would be again, wouldn't it? “My grandfather, Stor cha' Solkar, was a calligrapher. He _is_ , apparently, alive and well, making and breaking codes in his office at the consulate. There is significant emotional effect on those fortunate enough to know him,which I was not yet.”

“I can't imagine having someone dear to you dead and alive again.”

“I don't have to,” Spock said to the vicinity of the ceiling. He fought off the loss of control; Kirk could feel it, not disturbing, and let the warmth return. “Sarek was his father's aide. They were always very close. When Stor was assassinated, the gunman shot Sarek first. He has always felt responsible for not being able to stop the third bullet as he did the first two.”

_The oath. The damned oath._ It made more sense than Kirk wanted to think. _“I will not allow my commander to fall in battle without me...We are what we are and we understand to start with.” What was Sarek supposed to do when the danger came out of nowhere?_

“Solkar was an arm's length from the two of them and was of course there immediately, but Stor was already dead and Father nearly died even with his efforts.”

“Head shot with a projectile weapon,” Uhura whispered. “I saw the vids. It was gruesome.” She flicked at her padd and brought up what was now billed as an assassination _attempt_. The men on the screen were younger, the tallest and thinnest unfamiliar, walking toward a crowd of reporters when one of them pointed a mic at them and uttered a sharp cry in Romulan. The hidden weapon barked three times, but Sarek's falling body flung the assassin down. The unfamiliar Vulcan landed on a knee, clutching his shoulder, looking up with a blankly hurt expression on a beautiful, terribly innocent face.

“Which leaves the question,” Spock said. “Father's first wife Rea--”

Nyota looked for that as well. “She still died, but never negotiated the crippling settlement with Andoria. Stor did that, much more successfully. He was on medical leave for some time, then voluntarily removed himself to the Intelligence Bureau where it appears he still is. Sybok is still wherever he is, doing whatever he does. He did check in from Alpha Centauri 4 just after va'Pak. Rea still died in a fall after she quit the service, divorced Sarek and went through Kolinahr.”

“I can't understand why anyone with a family would cut herself off like that,” Kirk said.

Spock couldn't look at him, but the explanation was heavy between them, partly passed along from Prime. What had happened, Sarek kept in a locked compartment, as it were, while even the very moment of witnessing Amanda's death and the Immeasurable Loss was available for those close enough to ask. “I'm going to go to him.” He got up, leaving Kirk and Uhura with the puppy picture.

“Such a small thing,” Uhura said, scratching at numbers. “Lia has the image now. She'll know what to do with it. I may need to work out something with T'Ael, if that is what I think it might be, but she has to give me the word on that. 'Jenny drew me charges and she filled them up with water' indeed.”

Did he want to say it? He watched her work for a little while, adding his own quick notes to the weapons system changes. “I haven't always treated you the way I should have.”

She smiled, but kept her eyes on her work. “That's putting it mildly.”

“This may not work out, and I know you understand that. Did you swear?”

“Oh, yes. I didn't have to use the translator. She was impressed.”

“She knows command material when she sees it. Uhura, after the stuff I've done this past couple years, no way should I be in command of a rubber raft, let alone a starship. You, on the other hand...”

“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations means there's a place for everything, even rowdy boys who think they can save the universe. I'm in love with one of them, after all. If that means putting up with you, and it does, I'm glad to. You know what the Klingons call Spock?”

“I'm afraid to ask.”

“Kirk's thumb. Kharr explained. A thumbless hand can wrap around a dagger but may not hold. A thumb alone has little strength. A hand with a thumb grips the weapon.”

“Great. Now I'm a piece of Klingon philosophy.” He ran his hand over the black jacket. “Go to the new colony. Get all of this out of your system. I nearly...no, I _did_ die a month ago. Into the light, and sent back. With a crash, I may add. There are times I so very much hope I'm sleeping off an epic bender or a really bad fever and I'm going to wake up any minute.”

“I'm afraid we're really here and really doing this. I can't complain. If I hadn't ripped Spock a new one over my posting, I'd have been on the _Farragut_ at the Battle of Vulcan and we'd have shared death experiences, only odds are I wouldn't be able to discuss mine with you.”

“Almost all of the senior class,” Kirk agreed.

“It's too much to consider right now. There were heavy casualties from the _Vengeance_ Incident, seven cruisers lost at Vulcan, a lot of civilians injured and killed on Embassy Row. If and when we get back, Starfleet won't be the same. Change is coming, who knows how.”

“Yep, waking up any minute now,” he said, and they shared a nervous grin.


	26. The Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is ready, but will any of it work?

He might, _might_ , have mistaken Silek's calligraphy for this, if Silek were trying much harder than usual. The message on the last one was too much to take and sit in the house, even though the cold was biting, the snow was thick in the air and he hadn't put on a coat.

_There hadn't been time to react. He was looking down at the notes both older men might need during their press conference about negotiations. The double crash had knocked him over and the best he could do as his vision blurred was throw out a hand toward Stor, too late, then there was blood._

Now, old memory competed with the new. _Look up NOW!_ He did, the fraction of an instant before, and the mic still pierced him but he had a fraction of a second to claw the assailant to the ground as he went down. The third shot veered low and left into Stor's shoulder, leaving Father puzzled while the faithful guards covered him and the police wrestled with the intruder. _But what difference does it make?_ His hands still ached in the cold. That hadn't changed. He still remembered that four-tenths of a second. He was no better a son; his father had still been injured, Solkar had still seen his son and grandson fall and bleed on the summer grass under the California sun.

“He couldn't die, but he had to be hurt, and so did you.” It was not customary to interrupt even close family at meditation, but what was customary now? A hand brushed away the snow and arranged his warmed coat around his shoulders.

“You saw and understood the message.”

“I saw, but did not understand all.” He could feel Spock's edge of amusement. “Leroy.”

“If we survive, you have to meet him.”

“I will be honored.”

“He should say the same. Stor is different. The Romulans say everyone has an element and, like Lia, Solkar's is fire. His son's should be falling snow.” He stretched out a hand for a few soft crystals that landed lighter than feathers. “I don't recall Father ever displaying more than mild annoyance, and believe me, on many occasions the cause I gave him was much more than sufficient. He didn't go through the normal adult training because he'd never offended anyone enough to be sent even as an adolescent. That, more than anything, has haunted me. Yes, I admit that. That anyone like him could be murdered made me question what logic I had left after--”

“I know,” Spock said.

“And you're still here?”

“And will be.”

The silence, the distant city lights, the snow; the night was soft and quiet. They sat for some time without speaking. “Spock, would you give me your thoughts?”

Prime had all but demanded he ask such a thing, and now it made better sense than he wished. Spock all but leapt at the chance; had it been that lonely a life? Yes. Yes, it had, for both of them.

_Before anything: yes, I have always loved you. Yes, I was always proud._

_**Even on the day I walked away from the Science Academy? You looked as if you thought I might climb up and punch the elders.**_

_Especially then, for having the courage to do what I didn't. I was also afraid I might punch Jorek first. That would have been interesting._

_**We would both have found ourselves off-planet and at odds, but perhaps Mother would live.**_

_As she would say—oh, God, that hurts. She would have been worth it. Worth anything._

_**These other children in your heart? They look like me.**_

_The little girl was barely the size of my palm. She wanted to call her Karen. She had no Vulcan name. They wouldn't consider it. He wasn't that much earlier than I was. They didn't want to let me in the room. I went and I tried. He took his only breath in my hands._

_**Certain matters make a great deal more sense in that light.**_

_That is the moment when the healer took him from my hands after I had tried. There is the same one wanting to put me in your hands two years later. I couldn't take you from her at first. I said you looked too human. You now see I thought he was dead because I was not enough, and the same could have happened to you._

_**Is that Mother, yelling “Four and a half kilos, buster! He wasn't going to break?”**_

_It's her. She is with me, but never enough. You might not want to see **that** area._

_**No, sa'mi, that was one image I would have been glad not to transfer. I admit the humor involved, but there are certain things one does not wish to know about one's parents.**_

But he had to admit it was funny.  _Ahem. Yes. To business. I wish to show you my intention toward Hakeev. May I experience the moment when you saw Kirk die last month, and the time after, and your fight with Khan?_

_**I warn you, I behaved with violent emotion.**_

_I would expect nothing less. In fact, I count on it._

 

Kirk looked up at the shields straining under the continued onslaught of the otherwise unseen battle. They had turned from pale gold to green, brilliant peacock blue and a distressed and wavering purple at the weakest points, curtains of energy shaking through them like the Northern Lights in late afternoon. “Captain, are you familiar with a book code?” Uhura asked.

“Yes. I do remember that much from class. Is that what Stor sent?”

“One level more. If you know someone well enough, if you have enough shared experiences, you can send messages that are all but unbreakable without the mind on either end.” She showed Kirk the padd. “Not all are even for the same person. This one is for Nick.”

“My translator isn't helping. What does it mean 'Mazeroski season ticket Forbes that fall'?”

“It's Pittsburgh baseball. I'm laying odds he's going to know right away.—Do you?” Nick had just come back. He leaned over the screen.

“Sure. 9, our season ticket seats at Forbes Field for twenty-one years were in Section 47 row 20 seats 5 and 6, and everybody knows he knocked it out of the park right by the 406 sign in 1960. Forbes had a left field that wouldn't quit.”

“But what does that--”

Lia walked through, idly twirling the Stella's Pizza marker through her fingers like a baton. “Haseev's Tal Shiar weapons codes. The senior official with an attack force determines the use of weapons, because we don't trust our subordinates not to shoot us in the back, but if there's a Tal Shiar officer he has his own. The key is knowing which code for which watch, but that's taken care of with the first numeral. The ninth watch code is 472056406. ”

Kirk felt the need to sit down again. “Tell me the Vulcans have such a thing, Admiral.”

“No, actually, we don't. You already saw what your Vulcan does with a ship in an unwinnable situation. He changes the odds. Which,” she added, “I am attempting to do right now.”

“Here's yours, Captain,” Uhura said. “He must have known you'd be here..”

Tarsus. Corvette. Dorm. “Watch 4 is 1965415. Not the same number of digits?”

“Harder to guess, isn't it?”

“Where...did these codes...”

“From the same place as the Trellium-D,” Sarek said, shaking the snow off his coat. “Letting her know she'd been made wasn't the most logical solution. Intercepting further data was.”

Kirk's voice found octaves he didn't know it had. “Someone at the _embassy_ had weapons codes? At the _Vulcan_ embassy? On Earth?”

“And weapons,which she has no idea haven't been where she left them for a week. Which she intends to use in four hours to distract Starfleet and cause them to turn back the few ships to defend Earth. That will not happen now.”

“Score one for our side, but...but... _how_?”

“It finally occurred to me that the aide who insisted on staying at the embassy was unusually interested in my secure channel, and that she insisted on packing my trunk—and dusting it generously, as it turns out. She claimed to be Kohlinahri, so I took her lack of field to be indicative of that, and of course there was no way to verify under ordinary circumstances. However...” he weighed what he was about to say, but Kirk already heard it. “Given the combination of the dust and my own...abilities...I knew there was a problem. Also given the circumstances, I first decided not to act on my suspicions because we were leaving the area and there was very little harm I thought she could do in our absence. Since we got on Ru's flight, I've been taking the code traffic relay. With no ambassador in residence, there shouldn't have been any private secure comms going to San Francisco. There were, at least daily and often several times. She didn't bother to change my access code, likely because she didn't want to let me know she had it or didn't imagine how much traffic comes through. There were messages coming in through a separate folder that should not have been there. I read them, not that they made sense to me. Father had more skill. Had we not been concerned with our own predicament with regard to the Trellium-D, the analysis wouldn't have revealed the primary temporal breakpoint, we wouldn't have tried to stop the assassination and we wouldn't have the codes. We'd have the choice of racing Hakeev to the bridge console or taking one shot at blowing up his ship, knowing the rest of the fleet would be enabled to open fire and at the very least half of it would.”

“Four hours,” Kirk said. Knowing a fight was about to happen was one thing, knowing the hour another. “Will the attack strike at the same time here?”

Uhura shook her head. “Between twelve and fifteen minutes later. She won't be able to tell them her assault failed, because Stor and Silek will be ready to take her into custody if they haven't already. They wouldn't have been my choice, but T'Rana apparently had dismemberment and the bay in mind, and that could lead to explanations they weren't prepared to make. There will even be fake news broadcasts. They will see what they expect, then realize their instruments are telling them something completely different. That will take a few minutes. It needs to be twelve to fifteen, so we have to stall.”

“That twelve to fifteen minutes once it happens,” Lia said. “I need, every bit of it. It's best to assume we need fifteen than that we'll be blessed with twelve. The problem will arise if Hakeev goes after us any earlier. We have to have our stall very well planned, and yes, I do intend to milk the Romulan Right of Statement for all it's worth. My assets _must_ get in place without disturbing anything he expects to be where he put it. I suppose we'd better finish our plan.” She turned to Kirk and Nick. “You two get executed.”

Nick was remarkably unruffled for a Vulcan without logic. “Gotcha. John gets to kill me?”

“Of course, by the most grisly and dramatic version of tal-shaya you can manage even if he botches the job and you flail a while. Kirk, I hope you can chew the scenery. Anything up to and including abject pee yourself hysterics are welcome before you get the Vulcan death grip from Sarek.”

“There's no such thing as a--”

“Precisely,” Sarek said. “Don't worry, I'll have gloves on to minimize the burns. As soon as we finish killing you and throwing your body out, it's her turn. The asteroid in question has been an annoyance and is in a good position not to cause permanent damage. Uhura worked the calculation for the subspace delay, so fire four point three minutes before the time she had planned.”

“Not red matter,” Spock added. “The Romulan agent at the embassy had obtained a large number of old-fashioned nuclear weapons set aside for disposal. She thinks they're going to blow up UFP headquarters and the space dock. We have confirmed the asteroid placement.”

Kirk thought it was like watching a tennis match from half court without hearing the ball get whacked. “What do I do after I'm dead?”

“You wait in the garden until the rest of your away team arrives to take over the Tal Shiar ship while I'm stalling another minute and a half. I can't be more precise because too much depends on Hakeev's reaction.”

She hadn't exactly made that part clear. “Whoa, there. Take over the--”

“Of course. Only the Tal Shiar-controlled admiral has the universal override, so somebody's got to beam up, dispose of any of Hakeev's crew my assets can't grab via transporter, rip the codes out of his brain and let me lock the fleet's destruct capability, which will give us the time we need. I'd do it myself, but it's best to have him still distracted by screaming at me when he's jumped.” She went into Sarek's study, adjusted the vid camera, tipped the chair back and tried it on. “If we turn off most of the lighting, this looks like the proper bridge for me to be on. The extras should arrive any minute.”

“Hakeev, the Tal Shiar admiral...” Sarek prompted.

“All of my Vulcans, go shields on full. He'll be bad enough when he hears my voice, because he's already furious with me. Five minutes ago he found out I wrecked his career—stealing his publicity and exposing that little plot against the Praetor, going home wouldn't be pleasant or really even an option for him--but he's going to be over the top emotional when he sees me in the wrong uniform. Humans note, there will be a lot of foul language from him and most likely a good bit of screaming and threatening to kill everything, so feel free to ad lib any good insults, threats or dirty jokes you can manage in Romulan. The longer he goes on after Nick and Jim get killed, the better. Very simple.”

“Simple,” Kirk squeaked.

Spock gave him a maddening shadow of a smirk. “Now you know how _your_ simple plans feel.”

One of Lia's bodyguards came in with a huge tray of somethig that looked like fresh pizza. “We never have to be without a memory of Vulcan. We framed the box. The line for the main synthesizer is half a block long and everyone with a home unit has downloaded the recipe.” Arev set the tray down and made as dismayed a face as he was likely to. “Oh dear. Apple, it seems.”

Sarek picked a piece up with a napkin. “When we couldn't leave for meals, there were times when the best of control could not overcome hunger. Stella's very nearly could. I never thought I would suffer so again.”

Nick looked over the tray. “Oh, wait, it's not all apple, there's some plomeek over on this corner. It's nearly edible. When it comes to last meals, you gotta admit we're classy.”

 

“Kid,” John said, “you're nuts.” He had fairly hauled Sarek back to his room and planted him on the foot of the bed so they could sit, knee to knee. “Are you a hundred percent sure about this? Because if you're not, you hand it off to me and I'll take it up there for you.”

“You know better than to ask. He's mine.”

Those healer's hands reached out to take his own, not grasping, laying them palms up on his knee and using a feather touch on all the aching spots. They picked up more than he wanted, but then, a healer and a grandfather were both apt to do so. “All right, who said _that_?”

“Every Vulcan outside this house. I thought it might be useful.”

“They're full of--they're irrational. How is va'Pak your fault? If you hadn't got a clue and tried to get who and what you could off-planet, there'd be nothing left. The Council even gave you a hard time about speaking to the media and telling people they might want to get off-world as soon as possible.”

“I believed there were hours, possibly days. I thought the drill had caused a massive eruption that would mean a few months away and coming back to clean up. On the Day, Spock knew where we would go and came after us. If he hadn't, the elders would have been lost.”

“Yes, and so would you.”

The great hollow in his chest crumbled in on itself. “I wish. She's gone.”

“I know.” The gentle hand found that horribly tender spot on his right wrist, the scarred nerve he couldn't bear to touch with a shirt cuff. He had stabbed straight through it to draw the blood. His grandfather's fingers brushed the pain away like dust. “Yes, other people have lost their whole families and everyone they knew. Other people haven't lost anyone from their clans. Was T'Sofic some rich diplomat when she threw her family onto that old shuttle? She didn't wonder whether it was allowed. She left. Most of the High Council and Science Academy sat around arguing, which is why they're dead. The complainers weren't fighting this week.”

“They didn't want to leave the chamber. Not even when Spock came in. They would not move. I saw Suvak die when the statue fell. He was...” _no, don't think of that yet,_ but he felt John wince in understanding, “beyond assistance. I stopped, but went on. Had I stayed behind--”

“They had no respect for Spock. You think he could have lined them up to transport without their fighting over who got to stand where?” His fingers paused over the artery. “That's healing well. How did you think fast enough to do that?”

How had he? “Channeling you? I do not know. Intuition?”

“Logic. _Actual_ logic. You didn't recognize it, but you've heard us talk medicine, you knew he needed whole blood immediately, you're the right type and there wasn't time to set up a normal transfusion. It's a fairly horrifying way to do it that could have gone very badly, but it worked.” Another pause as the pads of his fingertips found the next deep scar. “Hammer?”

“Dagger between the bones.”

“Ah. Never tended to.” He wasn't shocked. “Look, kid, if you want to do this because you feel like inflicting some extra major bloodcurdling vengeance the Romulans will be talking about a hundred years from now, I can go for that. But if you think you owe _those_ sorry sons anything after the way they act, you don't. You would have been entirely justified if you'd stayed at the house, loaded your shuttle and left. You didn't. That's above and beyond, and if they expect it because of that whole Sarek of Vulcan thing, they shouldn't. Spock didn't owe them anything either. When they did nothing but mock him from day one, if he'd never spoken to the whole lot, if he'd gone completely for the human side, who could blame him?” He started on the left hand, the really tender one. “You're going to need all these nerves to work tonight. Let me know if this is too much.”

How could he say it was the most relief he'd had in years? One bone at a time. Hakeev's heel. “It's not. Please continue.”

“So. You do know how big Hakeev—forget I said that, you do. Davy would be a better choice to maim him, but Hakeev is _**yours**_.”

“This is my plan. I need ammunition.”

“And choreography. I can help with the shields if you want. Medics are decent at that. As for material...” John twisted his mouth into a smile without humor, “I have plenty.”

 

One of the survivors, a former news producer, had spent the past fifteen minutes nudging lights here and there in the office and lining up her cast of characters against the back wall while Lia sat in the Romulan captain's chair, moving unseen ships and doing business as usual for the end of the world. Kirk was getting no better reports on his own padd, nor was Spock. They stood together, Spock in black and Kirk in his civvies, letting the occasional brush against each other be comfort. Uhura, in her natural place at Spock's other side, leaned forward once to look at Kirk. “Fair warning. If we're around after this, as soon as the crisis is taken care of I'm planning a completely human meltdown and I may not bother to go and hide first.”

Nick thumped her back as he squeezed past to stand where the producer wanted him. “I got no problem with that. In '58, first time I saw humans in the middle of something big, they kept it together as long as they needed to, did the job, then we all went to Johnnie's and got drunk and the ones who needed to got hysterical. Nobody minded. I thought it worked really well.” He looked over her Vulcan hairstyle and artistically penciled eyebrows. “Very nice! You look straight from Gol.”

“Dr. Wanders, can we have you stand in the middle?...That looks better. Oh, you there, you'll be perfect. Can you all take one half-step to the right and he can go right there?”

Ru had dragged himself out of the bedroom. “Die on my feet,” he said quietly, and Spock nodded understanding. Uhura stepped in front of him to give Ru her place.

“Judy?” Spock asked Ru.

“At the hospital. Getting ready. She's right here.” He patted his chest and leaned against Davy's shoulder. “Can't get hit again. You guys don't have enough to tank me up.”

“At least sit until it's time.” Lia turned her chair to them, holding a sketch she'd done with the marker. “Final briefing, with details I couldn't give you all earlier. This is the layout of the _Raptor's Wing,_ a modified D7 cruiser with the smaller shuttle deck and larger weapons section. The _Wing_ was scheduled for refit last year. She didn't get there owing to some bureaucratic delays, the defense budget crunch and a minor coup attempt, and she has an idiot for a chief engineer who got her job by bribing or having sex with a variety of Tal Shiar officials.”

She caught Kirk's eye and gave him that irritating little smirk he'd seen so often in the mirror. Spock was hard put not to do the same, though Kirk could feel it anyway. “Form over function?”

“You were right, Spock, he does catch on quickly. Oddly enough, the entire crew of the _Wing_ has been replaced over the last few months to reflect totally compliant, not competent, officers. The only good one was Subcommander Mijne, honor to her name. Hakeev got his position as the chief intelligence officer in the quadrant seventy-five years ago by actual intelligence. After hard drinking and drugging while serving as arm piece and party boy for half a dozen admirals, his intellect is blunted. Recently, he's had a lot of exposure to Trellium-D, which hasn't helped. Commander Jisit is no better at her job than the chief engineer, and she got hers the same way.”

“Bucket of bolts, idiot crew,” Kirk summarized. “But don't assume.”

“Precisely. You never know when one of them will have a sober and competent moment, though it certainly hasn't happened lately or we'd be dead. When the signal drops, you'll be beamed aboard a Romulan ship whose chief engineer is to be trusted implicitly, so try not to kill him. I ought to know. I've rummaged around in his brain enough. On my order he will jump you to the _Wing's_ bridge so they don't pick up a hostile transport signal. At the same time, he's going to grab all of the Romulans he can off the _Wing_ and lock them up in his hold so you won't have to deal with them. Sarek, the first thing you have to get is the admiral's override code so he can't initiate self-destruct on any of the fleet. It'll be the first thing he thinks of as he goes for the console. He's gotten quite heavy in the last few years, so he won't be able to get up fast because his knees are going. I estimate that when he sees you it will take him at least five seconds to stand up, another five to get to the console and two seconds to hit the keypad because the ones on the Romulan bridge don't do voice. Without the code, I'll have to blow up the _Wing_ with you on it within twenty seconds. I'd rather that not happen, so do that first and what happens to him afterward is of no real consequence.”

“Agreed.”

“There's the first broadcast about the Federation HQ bombing. We need twelve to fifteen minutes from now. He'll be calling any second. The executions should take place between the seven and, if we're really fortunate, twelve-minute marks. Now, if everyone is ready?”

In place, but waiting, but thinking too much, but out of place...he hadn't realized how much he had come to depend on Spock being an arm's length away. The minutes dripped sweat. The Vulcans fell into their old habits, meditating to draw into the great quiet together.

All he could think was _Peace, be still_. It became the rhythm of his breathing, the last thought he might have, the end of all things. John had his arms around Nick, who stood in front of him. Calm and a vast trust radiated from them: _keeping you warm, t'hy'la, we've been here before, we'll be here again_.

He could hear Uhura think, leaning back against Spock's chest: _Entreat me not to leave thee, nor to return from following after thee; for thy people shall be my people_...

And Spock, half-amused as he laid his head against her neck: _And thy god shall be my god?_

_I'm not so much down with the whole death god thing, but I do love you._

_Jim. No dying, right?_

_No dying,_ he thought back.  _It'll work._ He was as sure of it as he had been when he left Spock to pilot the  _Jellyfish_ .

“And...” Lia said as the comm alert tone sounded, “showtime.”

Ru stood and pulled himself to attention. Nick feigned terror. Kirk put his hands behind his back as if they were tied and turned his back to the screen, watching the proceedings in a small mirror on the shelf. Lia kept twirling the marker and tossing it from one hand to the other. A wicked light suddenly sparkled in her eyes as she looked back at her brother, thinking  _Trust me?_

_Always._

_Stella's to the rescue._

_S'chnT'gai madness, Li._

_Count on it_ .


	27. Zero Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: once Sarek starts explaining himself to the admiral, there is a lot of Very Bad Stuff referenced. Sensitive readers may want to skip over the italicized mind meld parts.

_Mischief managed_ .

The brief message crossed the screen in front of them all, hurled through subspace from Earth without so much as a signature from Silek. There was a shift in Lia's expression and in the energy shimmering from her; Kirk felt her relief. “So long,” she muttered, “they've waited so long.”

“It would have been longer, wouldn't it?” Sarek said.

“I had much more in mind, but this will have to do.” Kirk felt her gather in the nerves that lay beneath the ice. “Now to do it.” She turned to her army. “I can't resist the whole villain turning around the chair thing when he calls. It's such a dramatic touch and he _so_ deserves it.”

“Here goes,” Uhura said.

The screen beeped for the incoming transmission with the identifier:  _Raptor's Wing, Admiral Hakeev/Tal Shiar_ . Kirk felt Spock stiffen and sensed a deep visceral wince from Sarek. From  _Sarek_ ? What the— _You'll know later_ , Spock thought at him.

“How have the mighty fallen,” the bloated Romulan admiral snorted. “Is that the proud Remnant? A dozen males, one puny female, a couple of useless captives and a vacant chair? Oh, look, it's my little _anton'wik'ha_ who was ever so much fun back then.”

When Sarek stared him down, the pure murder in his gaze seemed to leak into the room. Kirk reminded himself to struggle against invisible bonds and panic, which wasn't hard when Sarek was looking at anything in his vague direction with those glass-melting eyes. They reminded Kirk of Spock's half a second before he had been bashed across the bridge of the  _Enterprise_ . 

“Where's your commander, servant boy? Or have you let another die without you?”

“Relax. I'm right here, Hakeev.” How could Lia sound bored? “Have you had your little talk with the Senate yet about that small matter from earlier?”

“The Praetor will know who really betrayed him! Half of the Federation already wants your head on a pike, Ariennye.”

Lia smirked, straightened her face and slowly swiveled the chair. “ _Y'hhau, pi' sa-kan_ , I'm Lia.”

Kirk had to watch the fun imperfectly reflected in the mirror. Hakeev 's eyes bugged out as he spluttered for a purchase on his words. “ _Yyiao susse-thrai!_ ” was the nicest part of his screams for the next several minutes. Lia eyed him as if he were a boring vid, all the while playing with the clickers on the top of the marker. Uhura threw in a few ripe comments just to keep him going. The counter on the bottom of the screen ran off a satisfying amount of time even as the warnings on the planetary shield monitors began to shift from orange into the red zone. 

When he came to a pause, she raised an eyebrow. “ _Rha_ ?”  _Oh, really?_

“You won't be saying that in a moment. Earth has already begun to suffer--”

“Hush.” She flicked the blue button down. “Earth will not suffer _this_.”

Behind him, a frightened aide rushed to say something in his ear. He looked, if possible, even more horrified. “You—How did you--”

“I have more if you need the evidence.” She perched a finger over the yellow button. “How fond are you of Romulus, even if it isn't fond of you? Nice of you to deliver Captain Kirk into our hands.” She held the admiral's eyes while she gestured over her shoulder. “Deal with the Syrannian first. I want Kirk to watch.”

John, expressionless, seized Nick's head and twisted it. There was a terrible crackle and Nick went limp, his head dangling at an angle. John dropped the body to the floor and resumed his stare.

Kirk glanced down at Nick's bulging eyes and rapidly greying face. “You really. You sick cold-hearted bitch you really--” Nick stuck his tongue out. “By Grabthar's hammer, by the sons of Worvan, you will be avenged!” That nearly made the corpse laugh.

She made the same dismissing gesture toward Kirk. Just as coldly, Sarek seized him by the face and crushed his shoulder in a vise. “You, dispose of that mess,” she said from a hundred miles away. “Make Spock do the work.”

He wasn't sure what was going on for a few moments until he found himself in the garden with Spock holding him up on one side and Sarek on the other. “Excellent technique, _sa'mi,_ ” Spock said.

“Well remembered,” Sarek agreed. “Ruven, are you sure?”

How was he even standing up? “You get the admiral. I'll take the conn.”

Before Kirk could think what a bad idea any of it was, the transporter crackled and he found himself on an elegant new transporter pad. “Good to see you,” the officer at the controls said to Sarek. “When you get this taken care of, we are _so_ going to drink ourselves under the table.”

“Excellent idea, Lharrie,” Sarek agreed.

“Hakeev is still screaming at the screen from his usual spot and hasn't gotten up yet even though anybody sane would have done so. The bridge crew fled in terror as they usually do when he's in a rage, and we removed them to our brig. We have everybody but the navigator who is going to try to keep him away from the weapons lock. Try not to beat him up too badly. He's a decent kid you can use. And off you go.”

With another flash, they dropped into the bridge of an old bird of prey. Davy dropped Ru into the captain's chair, tossed the lone remaining ensign into the science station with a crash, then went to the navigator's station. Sarek lunged for the admiral. Kirk started to run to help and was summarily bowled to the floor as Sarek launched himself across the room and grabbed Hakeev by the face. “Eight six nine three.” Spock was already at the weapons console to punch the numbers in. His communicator echoed Lia's voice.

“Now enter the fourth watch code, then override-A-override-c-21-delta. That should do it.”

“ _Ae'i, Daise'Khre'Riov_ ', congratulations on your successful coup,” the computer said. “The traitor Admiral Hakeev has no weapons control.”

“Thank my mother-in-law for the overthrow command,” Lia said. “No matter what he tried to use now, it wouldn't work. Now for my half of this. Keep him busy.”

“The computer's set up for a coup?” Kirk gulped. He set down the phaser to check the setting. Unfortunately, Hakeev's boot smashed it.

“Indeed.” Spock ducked a flying piece of the admiral's armor. “Fascinating. And frightening.”

Sarek clung to the admiral's face even though the bigger man was clawing at him in a frantic effort to get him loose. “ _Ta' krenn!_ _Ta'krenn_ , all of it, feel that!”

Dams ripped apart, escape hatches blew into space, torpedoes roared from tubes; Sarek flung down all of his shields and loosed every horror in his mind at once. Kirk couldn't avoid the splash from their boiling impact. Spock ducked his head and shivered under the onslaught. They weren't simple images or even half-recalled scenes, but the vivid eidetic memories of a heartbroken empath, with full sound, scent and sensation. From five feet away he felt bones break and tasted copper blood as the  _Vengeance_ ripped through occupied buildings whose inhabitants he was powerless to help. The urge to protect overrode self-preservation, beyond pain, beyond duty. The crumbling buildings knocked him down and wounded him, the Klingon helped him get out, and he charged off from one victim to the next over and over before he found even one who could be helped. It did no good to wonder how Sarek was supposed to have prevented any of the deaths; the guilt was all-consuming fire and the admiral was getting the full force of it. 

When he saw Sarek's crystal recollection of a lovely young woman dying on the sidewalk with her coffee cup in hand, Kirk looked for a way to finish the fight, but Spock put a hand on his arm and shook his head. The man who had driven the  _Jellyfish_ face first into the  _Narada_ unflinching hit the deck, pulling Kirk under a counter where it was more or less safe. They disturbed a tiny fuzzy brown pony who blinked at them sleepily and cuddled up to Spock. “Oh,” Kirk said. “He has a fvav.”

“Yes, and who knows what he's been doing with it.” The fvav, not getting any attention from the pair, got up and strolled through the middle of the fight as if she were used to crewmen getting tossed around like footballs. She went to Ru, who patted her absently as he held the ship on a steady course.

Sarek and the admiral soared past again with an explosive crash, still streaming liquid horror into the air. The images that slapped Kirk in the face were far worse than the flying physical debris. A Vulcan couple, the woman pregnant, her chest crushed, the man blinded and missing a leg, trying to crawl to her. The Andorian boy's grief and guilt magnified to desperation. The subcommander, not her peaceful death but her struggle before, interlaced with the admiral's own memories of coaxing her to his bed—there she was, reluctant but willing, taking his abuse and his secrets, and there she was, broken and wheezing, dying with honor as he lived without it. Stor's assassination...Kirk couldn't let that one hit even as a glancing blow. “How is he hanging on like that?”

Spock peered up from under the bench. “I believe  _sa'mi_ is using the Admiral's left ear as a chew toy and he may have achieved a headlock with his right arm.”

Hakeev was howling every Romulan curse word Kirk had ever heard and some Vulcan ones he hadn't. In the course of his careen he slammed Sarek into a variety of solid objects, most of which broke. The mental torrent continued unabated, so loud that Kirk would have held his ears if it would have helped:  _Ponfo mirran. You were the hell I was in. Feel it, you son of a bitch!_

Recalling Spock's warning about that particular human epithet coming out of his father's mouth or mind, Kirk tried to hunch back closer to the wall. _All the dead children, Hakeev. The shuttlecraft accident where you tried to kill Amanda? Feel that! My child in my hands. Feel that, one breath, all I will ever have, one breath as I take yours._ The admiral gagged and tried to gasp as if he had no lungs. _My father? Feel that. His blood pours down your face as it did mine._ Hakeev clawed at the sides of his head as if it were missing bone. _The whole planet, Hakeev. Do you feel the billions of screams? Do you feel the planet crying out? The animals, Hakeev, the animals who had no quarrel with anyone, dying. The cadets aboard those starships. Feel the bone splinter and the blood boil as your lie sent them to their hell in space. Feel Nero who had no way to know his planet needed not die and his wife could have borne his child safe and well. Feel his crew who had to die because you wanted them to. All they wanted was home, and you took that away. Feel Kirk burned and dying where my son could not touch him at the last. Be human and frightened and wanting your t'hy'la's help and not being able to get near even though there is a bare handbreadth of glass between you._

Hakeev was sobbing. “Stop! Stop! Hwiiy'verrul' stop!”

_There is my son taking the body from the compartment. The body was still warm, the eyes half open unseeing. Feel the way the head sagged and smell the burnt flesh that clung to Spock's hands. They were always your hands. None of this would have happened without you._ The admiral's hands flew into the air, shaking, and he scrubbed them against the consoles. _Do you feel my son fighting Khan because he had nothing left? Know you're about to die and don't care because every single thing you ever loved is gone. Despair, Hakeev, despair. Nothing but death, despair and rage and no help but to finish it and you won't get that from me. No, I will not end it for you. You will live with this. And THIS._

The moving feeling image of the Romulan brig made Spock retch. Kirk tasted his own bile. _One bone at a time. You knew I was a musician. You wanted to take that. I can still play. You wanted to make sure I couldn't run away. I wouldn't give you the pleasure. Remember rutting yourself on me, telling me no woman would ever have me? She did and she bore my children. Remember your stink and sweat and cackling about how much you loved pain? Now you have it. Take all of it. Be chained like an animal. Wait for the footsteps on the stairs. Yes, I could hear them. You will hear them. You will wait for that door to open. You will wait to feel what I felt. You will feel every...last...moment._

What was left of Hakeev no longer seemed capable of speech, only high-pitched yelps that might have been begging as he slid to his knees. Spock's communicator blipped with Uhura's voice. “Great stall! Ready to beam?”

“Negative. The...interrogation?...is still ongoing.”

“Satisfactorily?” Lia asked. The bench they were hiding under nearly caved in from an impact as Sarek stopped pummeling the unconscious Hakeev mentally and commenced throwing the admiral's body against anything that looked as if it might hurt him.

Spock picked a chunk of plastic out of Kirk's hair. “Remarkably so, apparently.” He tried to work on the phaser, shook his head, threw it aside and tried his own on heavy stun. It had no effect at all on Sarek. The ship began to wobble and weave, gravity no longer behaving because of the broken consoles scattered around them. Ru held her as long as he could, then put her in a controlled spin to hold them more or less upright. Kirk judged they were barely at sub-warp.

“Time to go,” Davy called. “This ship's about had it.”

“Come on,” Spock urged, pulling at Ru's jacket.

Ru laid his head on the console. “Take the fvav, but leave me run her so I know she's on target.”

“Nope. Ship can take care of itself.” Davy grabbed Ru in one arm and the fvav, who started licking his face happily, in the other. “Can't leave her here with what's left of that perv. Or you.” Ru's struggle was brave but fruitless as the transporter flashed.

“ _Sa'mekh!_ ” Spock barked, but Sarek kept on flinging the bigger man every time he showed any sign of life. “I believe that was useless.”

“It barely worked when he called to _you_ ,” Kirk gulped, “and...”

“And I was only half Vulcan in a blood rage. Hit him!” Spock said.

That seemed like a spectacularly bad idea. “What?”

“Hit Sarek. I doubt he can hear me even though I assure you I am shouting mentally. You have to hit him so he'll stop. I can't. You'll see why—Just do it.”

Kirk thought about throwing a punch, grabbed the top of Sarek's shoulders instead and thought he'd hit a live cable. Pain ripped through him like lightning and threw him six feet backwards into the wall, but it distracted Sarek enough to drop Hakeev. A purple flash—Klingon transporter?--removed the admiral as cleanly as if he had never existed. 

Spock hauled himself up on the remnants of a console and picked Kirk up from the floor. “The Klingons wanted him,” Lia said over the comm. “It may be for the best. Can you get that ship into warp, any speed, on its present course? You're alone aboard.”

Sarek knocked Spock out of the way as he might have brushed by a swinging door and went for the controls. Spock disappeared in sparks and Kirk felt a brief brush of sizzle, but the transporter hadn't locked on. The bird of prey's center screen was alive with—what _were_ those things, anyway?

He would have liked to call them starships. There were certainly pieces of starships among them, many fragmentary survivors of the Battle of Vulcan, hung together as a framework for arrays of weapons that made them look like porcupines. The identifiers on them couldn't be right. If they were, the most profane fleet in the universe had decloaked in a six-ship diamond guard pattern around New Vulcan, with the seventh, biggest and most bristly one moving out toward them and the part of the Romulan fleet that seemed determined to pursue it. The _Raptor's Wing_ continued to roll as he hung onto the bridge railing. Sarek, on his knees and gasping for breath, rammed the speed control all the way forward. The engines spooled up in that peculiar pre-warp howl.

“Sub-commander Lhairre, positive lock on _two_ this time?” Kirk's communicator asked.

“ _Ae'i,_ Admiral.” And the whole world sparkled around them.

 

The deck shifted as he landed, but he didn't have a chance to fall before Spock was towing him off the platform and out the door. The officer at the transporter controls ran toward a staggering Sarek. “We can't leave your father--”

“Yes,” Spock said, towing him by the elbow, neither explaining nor implying that following Lia was voluntary.

“ _Oira'a'da_ ,” she said to the guards outside, who saluted as if every Romulan ship naturally had a Vulcan admiral aboard. She strode through the halls with all their twists and turns so fast that Kirk had to jog to keep up. After one last turn, she slapped her palm against a gate control.

“Admiral on the bridge!” The staff snapped to and the officer on watch, a younger version of Lia, vacated the chair with alacrity.

She slung herself into it, leaned back and allowed herself a small chuckle. “Courig, you may change our identifier.”

“Ae'i!” The navigator looked delighted.

The viewscreen had been displaying the ship's code across the bottom under the tactical map of other nearby vessels. It abruptly shifted from Romulan to Vulcan lettering and changed the ship ID to _VHC Carbon Creek._ Fully half, if not more, of the other ship identifiers changed a fraction later. Some were old warbirds, but the majority were the newer ships in the Fourth Fleet. The _Carbon Creek_ herself appeared to be a massive and graceful updated Vulcan _D'Kyr_ class in shimmering black. So were the _Kir, Syran, T'Rouf, Gol, Seleya and Sas-a-shar_ cruising up to meet her.

Lia leaned back with a sigh. “Whiskey for my men, beer for my humans, and damn, am I good.”

“ _Ie, rekkhai,_ ” smiled the younger version of her, who wore a commander's insignia on her own gray Vulcan tunic. “There were no defections, Admiral. Also, the cargo hold is full of three crews, only a few of whom express desire to go back to the Empire. Regrettably, those who want to return are the embedded Tal Shiar operatives and the crews now know who they are. Their repatriation may not be possible.”

“Wait,” Kirk muttered. “Not 'VSS'?” Even Vulcan vessels resembling wallowing gun platforms had always been callsigned Vulcan Science Ship.

“No,” Spock said quietly. “I believe she means Vulcan High Command in mind, not Council of Elders. They and my aunt have not achieved mutual tolerance since she was declared vrekasht.”

“Oo...kay. Two revolutions and a coup in one day.”

“Relatively bloodless, at that,” the young officer said. “Save for a very few who may oppose. Meticulous crew selection and placement appears to have been the proper course.”

“Why are we in such a hurry to get out of--” On screen, the _Raptor's Wing_ , still rolling on its axis, shot into the largest porcupine ship. He noticed its identifier: _Federation Promise_. The collision was awe-inspiring, the explosion afterward cataclysmic. After so many violent events in the last months, all he could manage was a pale “Oh.”

“Nobody on either one,” Lia assured him. “As for the _Federation Promise_ , it was like the real thing: empty. Well, except for all of the old junk nukes everyone had been parking out by the edge of the galaxy. The debris and radioactivity from that angle should prevent any serious thoughts of reprisal from the Empire for at least a year or two, unless they plan to shield what ships they have left in this sector with Trellium-D again. Something tells me they'll be a tad reluctant.”

Kirk could not recall wanting to sit down as badly as he did at that moment, but Spock was still on his feet and he felt duty-bound to compete. “I have to say, saving the universe with a Stella's Pizza marker...What were you going to do if he called your bluff about the other weapons?”

Lia blinked up at him, her face a mirror of her brother's when Sarek looked mildly surprised. “Oh, that, I wasn't bluffing. We really have a hundred and twenty of them ready to go in a lot of places the Empire would rather not lose, and I'll take out any or all of them if I have to. I just wanted to up the odds that none of that would be necessary, now or ever.” She stretched her arms. “Happier thoughts. Captain James Kirk, you met my husband Lhairre for about a half-second as we came in. He's known my brother since they went to school together. This is my daughter Commander T'Maekh, whose ship and chair I just stole, our weapons officer is her husband Rok, that ensign Davy decked over on the _Wing_ who is now tending the navigation desk is our son Courig, and my other daughter Saeihr met you briefly at the hospital, but I'm glad you don't need her because she's doubtless busy in sickbay.”

That did it for standing. Courig spun the navigator's chair around for him before his knees gave out. “The whole _family_?”

“Nobody could ever say I didn't have skin in this game. When va'Pak hit, I called the kind of private conference only well-trained Vulcan minds can. The Empire had eyes and ears in spite of all we did to load the crew, but devices can't tape what doesn't get said aloud.”

“But this...this had to have taken...”

“Decades? Yes. We slowly infiltrated every penal colony and prison we could, placing assets as guards, Tal Shiar inquisitors or prisoners. In some cases, prisoners we liberated became our Tal Shiar infiltrators. I'll leave those results to your imagination, but they were really effective.”

“I bet,” Kirk squeaked.

“We smuggled out any Vulcans we found, usually by the common expedient of knocking on the prison door in the middle of a foggy night and demanding them for questioning and disposal. They were as brave when we took them as they were relieved when they found out who really had them. Some had been there a hundred years since the end of the civil war, some were prisoners in the Xindi business. The crew of the _L'Langon,_ those who beamed down their marines to help during the battle, had been in a time anomaly because of their bad warp core until we reversed it...it was all ugly, no matter what, and we didn't save them all. Some freed prisoners were so far gone that they died a day or two after we rescued them. Some went mad and couldn't be helped.”

“I can understand that,” he said, and his stomach churned at those inherited memories.

“All of that was very slow, planting people and planning every move to minimize risk. You might say it was logical.” Hadn't he seen that smart-aleck expression on his own pictures? “The basement of Stella's Pizza was the cheapest office space in ShiKahr and the shop actually made enough to keep it going.”

“I'm not sure apple and plomeek pizza wouldn't incur war crimes trials,” Spock remarked.

“A very valid point.--We knew we'd need ships; we had no idea how urgent the need would be because of the Battle of Vulcan. One of our plants solved our problem. Kir Haran shipyard was reverse-engineering the old _D'Kyr_ they had captured. The plant—all right, my mother-in-law, just disappeared by the fake Tal Shiar, soon to join us here--extorted the Defense Secretary to build seven of them for Neutral Zone duty.”

“She got them to pay for the ships you--”

“Stole from them, although 'stole' is such a harsh word? Yes. After the destruction of _va'Pak_ , I think it's the least the Praetor's coffers owe us. Seven state of the art heavy cruisers with auxiliary launch capability sapped the budget for refit and repair for other parts of the fleet for several years and monopolized Kir Haran to the point that nothing else could be worked on no matter how urgent the need. Six were done at va'Pak, and the seventh was almost ready, so we put a rush on it—claiming we were in a hurry to devastate the Federation, which we very well could have—and took off.”

“One thing I don't get, Admiral...how were you two people at once?”

“Transporter tech, really good makeup, T'Maekh here who looks so much like me--” she mussed her daughter's hair affectionately-- “hyperwarp speeds on little transports, fine people around me, good family that covered for me and understood when I wasn't there on a lot of occasions...and a lot of frantic and very un-Vulcan prayer! The Council of Elders didn't recognize the Navy's existence even though the funding ran through the Science Academy. Nobody paid attention to who commanded the Vulcan fleet or where it was. It was easy for me to wander in when Starfleet thought I should brief them and go away to 'investigate' otherwise.”

The adrenaline was beginning to burn off. Spock was pacing in circles; he wished he could. “I think they were pretty firmly outsmarted.”

“We captured a Romulan asset many years ago whose name really was—as much as any Romulan name is real—Areinnye. She had a great career going and was close enough to the right size and shape for the ID to pass, and it wasn't that hard to change the bioidentifiers with the proper help on this side. I established Areinnye's headquarters right on the Neutral Zone. That I was stuck back of beyond at Kir Haran when everything blew was rotten luck. Most of the ships I left with had a skeleton crew with aliasing so they looked full. On the way we emptied prisons, sorted the Praetor's loyals from ours, dumped them on the next prison rock with their comm facilities blown up and blew up an old cargo hulk at each one to make it look like a massacre not even the Empire would question. My original estimate was five more years to take over or ruin by deliberate neglect the entire fleet, overthrow the Empire and reunify with Vulcan, but this will neutralize the threat for now while people on the inside work on the rest.”

“But all of that...you've spent so long, given up so much...”

The look she gave him suggested he wasn't thinking. “They hurt my little brother.”

“You are utterly psychotic,” Kirk said. “Admiral or not, you're a real starship captain.”

“That means a lot coming from you.” She contemplated the screen. A dozen Romulan ships that had survived the explosion, the remainder of the Fourth Fleet, had turned and were running for the Neutral Zone. “Courig, their self-destruct _is_ still disabled, correct?”

The young weapons officer checked his console. “Yes, rekkhai. Um, s'haile. Mother.”

“Then let them go. Some stories we want told. We'll eventually have to return any prisoners who don't want to stay, because they'd be a liability right now, but make sure we don't inadvertently deport any frightened Kiri or Syrannites. Nick should have most of them on his ship.”

“Nick is running a ship?”

She and Spock both raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, as if it should have been obvious. “He and John have one of the old warbirds I packed with refugee Syrannites two generations off-planet. Those poor souls have been hiding in the Neutral Zone ever since they left Vulcan, hoping no one would notice them, trying to farm a pile of rocks and getting no news, so we picked them up for safekeeping and shoved their ship off to hide during the explosion. Their planet's fine, far as it can be, but it could use a lot of help.” She touched a few keys on her armrest and the main screen shifted to pick up vid from the bridge of the VHC _Khrikha'pekh_. “Are you two about done scaring the human here? You coming back from out past nowhere or not?”

“Working on it. Hell's this do?” Nick grumbled, pointing at a lever labeled in Klingon.

“That's the throttle.” John leaned over his shoulder and pointed. “Right to there ought to do it.”

Spock turned to his aunt. “You didn't give them instructions on operating a Klingon vessel?”

“Nick's a coal miner. He'd have been offended if I implied he couldn't figure it out.”

Kirk didn't try not to grin at the name. “May I assume that isn't the most reliable of your fleet?”

“I'm kind of sentimental because she's the first ship I stole, and once Ru's shipyard can get to it, she'll be decent. I'll give her a name once she's in better condition. Probably the _Green Sands_.”

“Sarek. Isn't anybody going to check on him?”

Spock and Lia both opened their mouths to speak, and he deferred to her. “I forget, you don't just _know_ the way we do. You're picking up that he's injured and it hurts, but it's not life-threatening, and right now the only people he wants anywhere near him are Lhairre and Davy.”

“After all,” Spock said, and cocked an eyebrow at Kirk that explained it all.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and leaned into Spock's uninjured shoulder.

 

The madness had left him hollow and cold. Everything hurt and he no longer had even shreds of control. He leaned on Davy's shoulder where he was warm and nothing had to be explained while Lhairre tended his wounds. No words, no thought, no need to be Sarek of Vulcan.

_**She is gone.**_

_You still feel her. She is alive in some timeline. We need to find the right one. Nick and John will manage if it can be done._

_**vaPak is more than me.**_

_Yes, but it is also you_. Davy tightened his hold. _We were with you at Seleya twice and we will be with you now and we will be with you when we find her_.

_**Ru?** _

_Minor setbacks only. You can change that rule, too, so he can be yours. If you don't I will._

“Holy cow,” Davy added aloud. “I just thought of something.”

Lharrie looked up from the arm he was bandaging. “What now, Crazy No-Horse?”

“Among the Cheyenne...I gotta make a call when we get a chance.” He shifted Sarek gently so Lhairre could check his other side. He suppressed the gulp of pain, but Davy heard it and took it on himself. “Your chest sounds like an accordion that got kicked down three flights of steps. Just once I would purely love to tear up a bar with you some Saturday night, you know?”

“Violence. Illogical. Mostly.”

“But you're so damn good at it. I'm not sure he wouldn't have been better off if you'd broken his fool neck first chance. You for damn sure counted coup, though. This summer we have to get out to the Sun Dance, and right soon I gotta get hold of Joe once the _New York_ comes in range.” Davy lifted one of his hands so Lhairre could get to the burns on the palm. “Whoops, forgot, sorry.”

“It's all right. Doesn't hurt any more,” he said. And of all the brokenness that did, that didn't.

 


	28. Rednecks, White Socks and Blue Romulan Ale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which most of the loose ends get tied up and there is general relief (and cookies and ale.)

When he woke up for a few minutes at a time and was able to look around, he realized the _Carbon Creek_ 's VIP quarters would do very nicely if he ever occupied them while he was alive. The Romulans had no shame about making a suite comfortable, and his relatives did the same for him. Every time he woke up, someone was sitting with him or, more often, sleeping on top of the blankets at his side, because no one from the colony seemed to be able to keep their eyes open even if they were theoretically uninjured. The only person he didn't see there was Lia, and Lhairre explained that she had crawled into their bunk a day after the coup and hadn't come out yet. “The Praetor is yelling for help, the Third Fleet admiral is howling that he's coming over this way—which is doubtful, because he's got the oldest ships in the fleet and it would take him a year—and he's trying to figure out what Lia meant when she told him 'Come at me, bro.'”

“It's a very old Terran expression she picked up from Nick, indicating disrespect for his abilities and confidence that he would be soundly defeated.” Lhairre had brought some kind of fruit pastry and a mug of tea, both of which were an excellent idea. “So what are you two doing now?”

“To make the Vulcan Fourth Fleet a less attractive target, she may have to establish quarters off New Vulcan for a few months, and I'm rather looking forward to it.”

Sarek caught his drift. “Especially a week of it?”

“That most especially. It should be after her birthday. I do so cherish your sister and I would really, really like to cherish her a lot while we have the chance. Oh. You might want to check messages before you go back to sleep. There was one from a hospital on Terra.”

“I wasn't going to...” but he was, and soon if he didn't get up and move around a little. He had left his padd in the bathroom, where he had meant to pick it up six or eight hours ago after he fell asleep the last time. The message was not from the Academy hospital, but from a patient room, and the majority was a picture of the young man and the pregnant woman sharing the chocolate bar.

“ _Osu_ Sarek, your advice was accurate and the results better than expected. We have contracted a civil marriage for paperwork purposes and a firm bond in order to better bring up the imminent offspring, which was the cause for our celebration. We are both able to use walking frames for the length of the hall, and I am now able to watch her do so. By next month we will relocate to New Vulcan, and there is a 90 percent probability that she will soon be able to resume her nursing career.”

He sent back a message congratulating them and reminding them that there were numerous work opportunites at the main hospital as well as around the extensive grounds of D'H'Riset. “Good news?” Lhairre asked.

He showed him the note. “I would say so.”

“You're not the only one who had some. My father was on the _L'Langon_. I had no idea they had liberated the camp on their way in. Mother had no idea he had survived and may be unavailable for some time, and I may have a brother or sister from all of this. _Your_ father can't understand what all the fuss is about because he, of course, remembers nothing of the other timeline, but he's been keeping track of you.”

“I spoke to him this afternoon and asked him to stay there and take care of Mother and the elders. He would have come all that way...” There were matters he wasn't ready to speak of yet, but old friends could always hear them.

The medical staff was extremely attentive, from John, who frequently occupied Amanda's side of the bed and just as frequently snored, to the doctors Saeihr, Davy and Judy. None of them would let him suffer more than mild discomfort, even if their constant fussing became almost as bothersome as his injuries. At some point on the second day, Davy must have sat on the edge of the bed where he fell asleep, toppling over across his chest. The effect was not unlike being caught under a large tree trunk that also snored.

He tried to mind that Davy was there, but let him lie until the pressure across his ribs was too uncomfortable to manage. “Roll over. You're crushing your lyricist.”

“Huh? Oh. Oops.” The tree trunk flopped to the other side of the bed. “Bet that felt good.”

“Wonderful.” Years with Amanda had taught him the value of sarcasm.

“I know your bones are all glued together just fine, but the muscles and all take a while.”

“They do. Are. It's not bad at all now. I just can't stay awake.”

“None of us can. It's not the meds, it's the idea that for the first time since va'Pak, nobody who wants to kill us is likely to be able to even try it. Ru says he's never had that kind of luxury since he took off in a ship. He's sacked out in a nice warm room. His liver's coming back so he's not quite as yellow and doesn't feel as bad. As for Spock, he's been here off and on and when he starts to conk out Nyota collects him and takes him to their room, which I figure will do him more good than anything.”

“What about Jim? I regret having killed him so hard.”

“Eh, he's human, still kind of wobbly and sleepy, but who ain't? Last I saw, he and Ru were trying to play poker, which ain't working for either one right now and is pretty hilarious to watch.”

He flexed his right hand. “It feels different. I don't remember breaking that.”

“You didn't. While Judy had you knocked out, she set it again to get it straight and cleaned up the big old scar around the nerves. You should be able to play a lot longer at a sitting.” Davy appropriated the top blanket. “We'll do that when I'm awake one of these days.”

When he woke again, he wandered in search of more food and heard a baby whimpering. Judy greeted him at the door of sickbay and told him they had moved the Vulcan marine and her baby for the better treatment possible aboard ship. “T'Hana, I think we have a solution to your fussy Cordais.”

Even as a patient, the mother was back in her gray uniform. As he had suspected when he saw her nearly dying, she was very pretty and reminded him of _ko'mekh'li_ Shai. “She's very likely my only unless these repairs are truly excellent,” she was telling John as he walked her to the door on his arm.

“I know the feeling. The species may be in trouble, but I won't likely be able to do much for it. Of course, medicine has come a good way since you and I were young.”

“It's an odd feeling to be here and now when we were there and then, and old, but not old. I suppose it's best for Cordais. I thought being in the loop so long might have done her damage. She appears to be well, if rather fussy.” Sarek reached out, and John put the baby in his arms. She curled up against his chest, chewing on his knuckle. T'Hana raised an eyebrow. “You're right. That seems to be what she wants.”

“She and I spent a lot of time together on night shift. We discussed astrophysics.”

John made a face. “Yeah, right, you were singing 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' to her.”

“Mozart. Beginning her musical education.”

“Her father didn't survive,” Cordais' mother said before he could ask. “He wasn't with me aboard ship, he lived out his life on Vulcan while I was gone. He was a good man,” T'Hana said, looking at the floor, “and...and I miss him. But. To wait, especially now, is not logical.” For a moment, he thought John might be trying to, as Amanda put it, fix him up, but as the thought crossed his mind he got the distinct and rather firm impression from his grandfather that was not the case. Perhaps, he thought, Mijne and Shai had made good on their threats.

 

All Kirk cared about for the first day or two was that the beautiful big starship had an abundant supply of soft beds in warm rooms and no one cared how long he slept. He tried to check on Sarek and fell asleep there, and when he woke up he found an empty room and lay down in it and stayed there until he got hungry and had to pee. The latter he managed, then went in search of food. The crew directed him to the cafeteria, where he slowly deciphered the menu and was waffling over what to risk until a young woman in a medical uniform heard his musings. “Don't be afraid. We've lived off-planet a long while and we've adopted a lot of Romulan attitudes toward food...as in, it's good and we should enjoy what we eat. Try anything that has a green marker. That's what we usually tell anyone who has enough of some other race that we aren't sure what they can handle.”

She found him some kind of noodle dish that was good, and he sat and talked to her while she had her own lunch. She turned out to be another prison baby, conceived by one of the Romulan guards when a Vulcan prisoner went into _pon farr_. Lia passed by. “I see you've met my nephew.”

The young woman had stood at the admiral's arrival. “Nephew, _rekkhai_?”

“He's S'chnT'gai crazy. Did he tell you he got into a fistfight with Spock and he's still alive?”

“This I have to hear!” Lia bent over and whispered something in the young woman's ear. She giggled. “Do you think he would survive that, too?”

“Maybe not at the moment,” Lia said, straight-faced, “but he should definitely take it under advisement, don't you think?”

 

While Vulcans didn't celebrate birthdays, Romulans most emphatically did, some even surviving the occasion. Kirk was relatively sure a Vulcan had handed him a bottle after he had downed a couple of Iron Cities. It was illegal. Not the beer, the blue ale. He wasn't sure why it was illegal. It blasted his sinuses open before he even took a drink. Or several.

Uhura had tried to have a meltdown, but she wasn't able after the ale hit because she said nothing hurt and everything was vaguely funny. “I had it all planned, too,” she said with great plastered regret. “There's no excuse for him to comfort me and take advantage of me.”

“Oh,” Spock said. “I didn't realize hysterics were necessary for foreplay.”

“They aren't. Neither is alcohol. But we _have_ booze,” she said brightly. “And it's Romulan. I think every species in the galaxy can get hammered on this.” She handed him the bottle she was working on. He raised an eyebrow at it and took a lengthy pull.

“If it doesn't, something is wrong with my physiology,” he said.

“Nothing is wrong with your physiology. Except your shoulder probably hurts.”

Kirk could have told her that nothing on Spock hurt once the ale hit. “Do I have a shoulder?”

“Yes. Maybe we should lie down soon.”

Off in a corner, John was listening to Lia's daughter describe her medical facilities while she extracted paramedic stories from her great-grandfather. For the time being, he was leaving out the more interesting adventures he and Mestral had shared. Nick, for his part, was drinking the Iron City beer he'd brought while he tended a cooker full of cabbage rolls and talked to his Air Galactica pilot girlfriend on her way in from Aldebaran. “Zora, you ain't gonna believe this, but I think we found a match for the old goat!”

Davy placed his call from his perch between a physically still somewhat wilted but mentally much relieved Sarek and an equally droopy but content Ru. “This is Joe Two Moons. He's the Northern Cheyenne chief. He's out here in sickbay on the _New York_.--Joe, you ain't gonna believe what these two did, and I don't know how to figure it. See this little fvav?” Of course the pony had gone to the two recovering wounded men, nuzzling one, then the other in a flagrant attempt to make them pet her. “Is she a horse?”

“She sure as heck looks like one to me, Davy. Cute as Christmas. Just the thing for a Cheyenne to have around, compact-size. Where'd you come by her in space?”

“These are Romulan pets, kids ride them and all. This one is a born therapy animal for everybody here who claims they ain't upset. We make the rounds of town every day so she can get people talking. Thing is, she belonged to a Tal Shiar admiral. She went to Ru on his bridge and he grabbed her during the fight and made me take her off the ship.”

The unseen speaker whistled. “Run this all by me again. Over this past few weeks, Ru led a couple of raids. Y'all went up there, took prisoners and weapons and stole the ship. All of you counted coup at one time or another between the battle on the ground and on the ship, ain't even trying to figure out the feathers for that right now. Then Ru grabbed the horse and you brought her back?”

“That about covers it, don't it?”

“Never thought I'd have the chance to say this, but them's the bona fide ingredients for a war chief. I vote you do making of relatives. We've made all colors of Terrans into Cheyennes and you're a nice two-tone, but this may be the first all-green red man we ever had.” He peered through the screen. “That the Madmiral back there?”

Lia excused herself from an intense conversation with Lhairre—“conversation” covering a lot of finger-entwining and experiments in kissing human-style in their dark corner—and greeted the chief. “Admiral, the Battle of the Rosebud, you familiar with it?”

“A lot of Vulcans know that campaign. Strategically interesting.”

“You know what we call it? 'The Fight Where The Girl Saved Her Brother.' Buffalo Calf Road saw her brother wounded and off his horse, so she rode through the other side's cavalry, grabbed him up and rode back through the whole battle to get him where he was safe. I propose you let us call this one 'The Fight Where The Girl Saved Her Brother's New Planet.'”

“Flattering to have my hundredth birthday party and be a girl, but I had a whole lot of help...” When that conversation ambled off, Kirk heard a slight disturbance at the door and felt a flutter of mild concern from the guards that didn't quite rise to the level of panic, hostility and locked and loaded readiness he'd become accustomed to. “It's all right,” Lia called, “let them in.”

It was odd to think of any Klingon party as deferential, but Kharr's delegation was. In contrast to their recent matter of fact attendance at any public celebration, they were in formal armor and diplomatic order. They stopped and saluted. Sarek got up to greet them, given a slight assist from Spock. “Welcome to D'H'Riset, Captain. You honor us with your presence.”

“ _S'haile_ , we have business with Ruven.” _**Sir**_ _, out of a Klingon?_ Kirk wondered. _How much of that fight did everybody see? “_ May we speak with him before the family?”

“Of course.” Kirk offered his arm to Ru. Even through his sleeve, he felt gratitude mixed with a substantial dose of “say what?” for Ru's old friend's sudden formality.

“NuQnekH, Kharr, how's--” he began, but Kharr shook his head.

“This is a formal occasion, and one at which I cannot be more proud to officiate. Ruven, mate of the healer of the clan of T'Khai, during the Battle of Green Sands...” Kirk recognized a citation when he heard it; the form of honors varied little. The description of Ru's deeds was accurate, if a little interesting in its phrasing. Kirk hadn't considered them as a whole, nor was he certain he wanted to. “With your last act, you prevented the capture of the heads of two noble clans, and your spilled blood bought the lives of six of our crew. From this day forward, within the Empire you are to be known as Ruven of the House of K'Lar.” Kharr turned to his aide, who handed him a bundle in red cloth. “I regret this was not retrieved until after the rain and snow, which unfortunately cleaned away most of your blood.” It was the bat'leth that had chopped halfway through him before he disabled the gun with it. “If you would like to slice my head off to make certain it still works...”

“I'm satisfied it still would, Kharr.” Ru rendered the proper Klingon salute.

“By the way, the hospital was going to throw away that perfectly good fresh hunk of your liver, so we all shared it. We think it may be the first time a man's liver was eaten in his honor when he survived. You were delicious and now we have your courage.”

Uhura counted on her fingers and shook her head, chuckling. “That's three clans he belongs to now. Not bad for a guy who started the week without any.”

“Now just you wait,” Lia called to Kharr and his men, whose armor clattered as they screeched to a stop. “In our time of need, if you hadn't given two lives and a lot of blood, I'd never have had time to get all my heavy hardware and soldiers here. In fact, I'm going to need all of you who were here that night to stand up.” She looked to her aide, who brought a box from the office. “Until I hear from the Empire, which strangely does not seem to wish to speak with me because we're holding the Praetor hostage aboard the _Carbon Creek_ pending the safe arrival of my in-laws, I'm still _Daise'Khre'Ryov_ in this sector. That empowers me to confer these awards on you all for preventing the Empire from engaging in a conflict that would have cost its honor as well as its treasury and millions of lives, most of them as innocent as Romulans get.” The humor was not lost on the Klingons, who fairly wheezed until one of the aides brought them ale. She went around the room merrily pinning Romulan Medals of Courage on the Klingons, then the Steel Curtain, ending with her brother. “Just remember, Leroy, you have to wear that when you deal with them.”

“I may, should the occasion arise to negotiate with the psychotic Admiral Hellfire.”

She gave him her best evil glare across the cookie table. “That'll happen about the time you try to grab the last pizzelle off that plate.”

 

“Ha, Ko'mekh?”

“ _Rha_ '?” Mother's Romulan was as intentional as it was warped. “ _Now_ you're being civil?”

“I'm making the effort.” He wasn't making much of an effort for much else, even two weeks after fighting Hakeev. The Klingons still had the Romulan prisoner, though they said they had not tortured him; they seemed uneasy about executing him when he could not understand what was happening. It should have bothered him; it didn't.

Rather than seek out a healer or make his sessions with Davy more formal, he had hitched an Air Galactica shuttle to present-day Carbon Creek and installed himself on the back porch swing at Nick's. It was summer in the northwest Pennsylvania hills, and no one in the entire town minded that he was there, tried to find him for important comment or expected him to solve the galaxy's problems. After the first week, he had taken to accompanying Nick and John to the Veterans of Foreign Wars. They had an extraordinary selection of drinks—how many bars had nice Chablis and Mozart on the music selector?--and an even more extraordinary selection of customers, many of whom turned out to be _vrekasht_ Vulcans whose families had been in town for a hundred years or more. If they knew or cared who he was, no one said so.

The Air Galactica hub was a few kilometers away, so a number of the pilots stopped in from time to time. One of them hurried in one day in her pilot's uniform, wearing her hair in a style more befitting a middle-aged Terran woman than a Vulcan. “Sarek? Oh, there you are. I haven't had the chance to introduce myself to anyone but John yet. I'm about to be family, after all.”

“You must be Zora Golich.”

“Yes! You even pronounced it right. I met your grandson, Nick, oh, finally, here you are.” She started the crossed-palm greeting with Nick, then flung her arms around him and Terran-kissed him.

Mother had been a little scandalized at the news, but remarkably little considering that she had just acquired a stepmother who looked to be anything but wicked. Was it only his imagination, or had her face softened in the last few weeks? “Before you ask, yes, I am well and the Trellium-D is leaving my system in an adequate manner.” She paused for effect; he knew the diplomatic tricks. “I nearly wish it wouldn't. The healer tells me some damage to emotional control is permanent. Maintaining an even keel will be possible, not giving offense to others without cause will be possible, Kolinahr is now forever beyond my reach. Doubtless that prevents me from having the proper level of regret.”

Earthquake? Major timeline shift? End of the universe? It was his turn to say “ _Rha_ '?”

His father's face leaned into the picture. He realized, with even further astonishment that he hoped he had masked properly, that they were in a large Terran bed in the middle of the day. “What she means is that as usual, you have given us much to consider.” The twinkle in his father's eyes hinted _Mostly her, but you knew that_. “Controlling emotions is commendable. It may be that denying them is not. It may also be that in view of recent events the Council will need to revisit Solkar's translation of the _Kir-Shara_ and pay more attention to his detailed commentary.”

“About time,” John muttered as he went by. “Only took two hundred years for my own kid to respect my work. Check into my _Notes On the_ _Decisions of Jarok_ while you're at it.”

“Also,” Mother added, as if she had just bitten into a lemon, “it may be that some Council policies have been, ah...overly restrictiIIIIVE...” she elbowed Stor, who was looking as innocent as always, “...and that what is done between bondmates in private need not be the Council's concern if there is no distURRRbance to the general peace or injury to the parties.” He heard her think _And I'm about to injure_ _ **you**_ _in a minute so quit that!_

 _Your skin looked dry. I was merely putting lotion on your back._ If Stor looked any more blameless he might sprout a halo. “What?” Ambassadorial innocence won again.

Ah, so she had commenced the actual negotiations Sarek had planned to open. She had most likely heard him. “As to the public overhearing of a husband saying 'I cherish thee' to his wife?” Oh, for the chance to break that rule again. He knew Spock and Nyota often exchanged the thought. Ru and Judy were doing so that very moment as they looked over the garden behind the house next door. Did they know...of course they did. The tiniest of Vulcan minds was already strong enough to call to him.

 _Sa'mekh'li_?

 _Ko'fu'li_ , _I am here, and you are very important. So important that four Vulcan ambassadors to Earth will come to you as soon as you are born and the current one will insist on holding you even though it is illogical and refuse to put you down until someone tells him that your feet need the floor if they're going to learn to walk. My apologies for the empath genes you have in abundance, but I do not regret that we can talk so. I will tell you stories about your grandmother Shaishonna who shared your blood, and if we haven't fixed time by then I will tell you stories about your grandmother Amanda who was my heart._

“Perhaps the council's inquiry was excessive, as was the effort involved to overhear a private conversation.” She sighed. “For the sake of public decency, however, perhaps the oz'eshta should remain the _acceptable_ form of public display, don't you think?” She looked mildly annoyed and zoomed the padd in a bit to cut something out of the picture.

“Unless circumstances require otherwise,” Sarek agreed gravely. Circumstances would have required otherwise on a great many occasions with Amanda. If the timeline could be repaired, he hoped to explain himself to Council numerous times.

“It may also be necessary to revisit the rules for declaring a Vulcan _vrekasht_. The five reasons two hundred and fifty years ago seem to have become over five thousand reasons at present, and the difficulty of incurring an infraction has dropped until I myself am _vrekasht_...” she elbowed Stor again, not to very great effect and not without a muted smirk. “Owing to some of my recent actions.”

Sarek lifted an eyebrow and an index finger. Maybe hands had different ways of healing. “And?”

“No wonder you're so effective at this,” she grumbled. “Because of the obvious population difficulties and the fact that we can indeed now verify paternity, as was not possible thousands of years ago, it seems illogical to accept only those with Vulcan mothers and deny full citizenship to those with only a male Vulcan parent, or those who are artificially conceived or born off-planet. T'Khart is gone, so no one in the new generation would be a citizen. Those who will be conceived artificially out of necessity, the number of embryos now being hosted whose families want them to carry their genetic clan lines...the old way is untenable. It is logical to conform to this new reAAAlity--” she reached behind her off screen. “We also need to encourage those who wish to help, even if they aren't Vulcan. I've had a hundred and fifty offers from Federation-allied Romulan women this week alone. They're not open to arranged bonds, but they offer to host frozen embryos or carry children for any couple who can't. Such generosity of spirit...it would be illogical to refuse that, would it not?”

“It would be also illogical to refuse to recognize those whose birthright was taken by accident, would it not?”

“Council was favorable to the amendment.”

He waved to Ru and Judy, who hurried over lest there was trouble. “Say it. 'S'chnT'gai Ruven.' Is that so hard?”

She looked into Ru's eyes through the link. “S'chn T'gai Ruven, cha'Sarek cha'Stor,” she sighed. Behind her, Stor held both arms up like a referee signaling a touchdown. “You drive a very hard bargain, _sa'fu_. Spock should also be pleased, because the amended legislation will finally recognize him as a full citizen despite his disadvan--” Stor must have elbowed her rather hard. “But then I'm technically _vrekasht_ , so my word may not have as much force as it might have.”

Nick happened by and gave his daughter the patented Serbian dad glare. “Aw right, what did you do, princess? Your own regulations bite you in the ass?” The unmistakable thought from Stor's direction nearly made everyone snicker.

“Under Section 4314.2, when traveling, to avoid the appearance of emotionalism and unnecessary bodily contact, bondmates may not engage in sexual activity unless it is unavoidable due to pon farr.” She reached up, preparing to switch off the transmission. “Nobody's in heat here, but I cherish this fool who spent an extra week completely soaked in that contaminated embassy in order to save our corner of the universe. While the Trellium-D lasts I've been cherishing him all week and I'm about to do it again, so the lot of you can very well carry THAT image around all day!”

The call clicked off amid a general ripple of dismay, but Nick forestalled it. “She'll be a lot more mellow now that she's getting laid regular. Anybody want some soup?”

 

\--END--

 

**Author's Note:**

> Vulcan courtesy of korsaya.org and the Vulcan Language Institute. Romulan courtesy of the Imperial Romulan Language Institute. Klingon courtesy of klingon-empire.org. Many thanks to all of them for their generosity.


End file.
